It was 7th grade. I was at my locker between classes. I looked down at my feet briefly - dark socks. I always wore dark socks with my tennis shoes and jeans. Looking back, I can't remember why. Maybe they were more comfortable? Maybe they were cheaper? Not sure why I even remember looking at them, unless the symbolism of me looking down was important to this memory. That's when I heard her...
"Hey Chad (that was my name at the time), I like your shirt. Girbaud, huh? (pronounced "jah-boh" or something like that) Where'd you get it? Those can be expensive, eh?
In that split second of response time, I had choices. Here was a semi-attractive, popular-crowd type female complimenting me. But she was also asking the source of her own compliment. Do I answer honestly?
Do I tell her, "well, I go to a clothing bank once in a while, and we're allowed to take a certain number of shirts. I had no clue this "Girbaud" (I pronounced it gerr-bawd) was anything other than a slick foreign word. I liked that it was long-sleeved, and blue/black. But now that you complimented it, I'll probably wear it at least once a week until there are holes in the cuffs."
Or do I make something up? "Eh, I had a few bucks left from Christmas still, and thought I might as well get a decent shirt to wear. (shrugging it off)
Ooops, she was still waiting on a reply.
"Um, can't remember. A gift I think. I've had it for a while, I'd just lost it."
ah, memories of teenage drama in a boy that was probably nothing more than a gumball for the girl.
Going Where God Is Moving.
2 weeks ago