LAST MONTH, my wife, Melissa, and I celebrated a major milestone—our 30th wedding anniversary. In this day and age, remaining happily married for 30 years is no small feat; however, our story together goes back much further than that. We actually attended the same grade school, hung out as friends all through high school, and began dating in 1986, just before starting college. Long story short, we got married on October 12, 1991, and life’s been pretty good ever since.
But looking back over our long history together, I recall one particular incident that almost brought our story to a close before it really began—an episode known throughout Northwest Ohio and parts of Southeast Michigan as “The Great Couple Skate Debacle of Seventh Grade,” or the “GCSDSG.”
Now, keep in mind that 41 years have elapsed since the GCSDSG and some of the details may have become lost or distorted in the mists of time. So, for the sake of historical accuracy, Melissa’s version of the incident will follow mine. I’ll leave it up to you, dear reader, to decide whose account rings true.
He said…
The year was 1980. “Love Stinks” and “The Pina Colada Song” were climbing the charts; a Rubik’s Cube graced every hand; the world had just discovered that Darth Vader was, in fact, Luke’s father; and we were all grappling with the mystery of “who shot JR.” It was in the autumn of that same year that Our Lady of Perpetual Help (the grade school that Melissa and I both attended) held its annual Seventh and Eighth Grade Skating Party at Ohio Skate.
I’d been romantically interested in Melissa for quite some time, but I had never verbalized the fact and the usual signals—kicking the back of her chair, knocking over her books, shooting spitballs into her hair, and writing all the lyrics to “I Am the Walrus” on her math book—weren’t getting the message across for some reason. It was time to bring out the big guns. I would let my feelings be known at the skating party.
Now, as anyone my age might recall, every skating party back then included a particularly terrifying ritual called the “couple skate,” during which the lights were dimmed, the mirrored disco ball was activated, romantic music was played, and any boy and girl who were “going together” (i.e., calling each other on the phone each night and skating together during couple skates) had the rink all to themselves. I say this ritual was terrifying because if you weren’t “going with” anyone, you had the option of either sitting it out and pretending you didn’t care or mustering the courage to ask someone with whom you weren’t already affiliated to skate with you. I’d planned, for the first time, to attempt the latter.
I knew I had to make a powerful impression on Melissa, so I styled my hair in the popular fashion of the day (parted down the middle), dabbed on a little of the old man’s Aqua Velva, and donned my favorite Pittsburg Steelers’ jersey—lucky number 12. I figured if it worked for Bradshaw, it would work for me!
I arrived at the skating party with my best friend, Tony Kremnetz, who, as it turned out, also wore his Terry Bradshaw jersey. Tony had been apprised of my plan and was there to make sure I didn’t chicken out at the critical moment. He also gave me a much-needed pep talk as we entered the rink and strapped on our skates. “Dude, I really don’t think this thing’s going to work out, but, hey, it’s your funeral,” I believe he said.
When the first couple skate was announced and that romantic music began—“Sailing” by Christopher Cross, if memory serves—I hesitated for a few moments, my resolve faltering, but then spotted Melissa, looking lovely and chatting with her friends about ten yards away. She hadn’t been asked to skate! How could that be? It was now or never.
I rolled as quickly as possible through the milling crowd toward Melissa, fearful that the song and couple skate would end before I could pop the question. Finally I was standing, somewhat unsteadily on my skates, in front of her. I searched for the right words. To my astonishment, they started to flow. I poured out all of my feelings for Melissa right there at Ohio Skate with her friends overhearing every word. I was eloquent. I told her how I’d liked and admired her for a long time, how I thought she was the prettiest girl in the seventh grade, and that one couple skate with her was all I asked. Unfortunately, as with the spitballs, kicking, book knocking, and
Unfortunately, as with the spitballs, kicking, book knocking, and song lyrics, this heartfelt speech did not have the desired effect. Melissa looked at me, almost sympathetically, and said something like, “I really don’t think skating with you right now would be in my best interest, but thanks anyway.” Then she skated away, flanked by her friends, who could scarcely conceal their laughter.
I skated back to Tony who, in a valiant effort to buoy my spirits, remarked, “Told you so, dude.”
She said…
Okay, here’s what really happened: I was at the seventh and eighth grade skating party with my friends and having a pretty good time when I saw Jeff off in the distance, skating—actually, it was more like stumbling—in my general direction with a weird grin on his face. He and Tony looked like the Bobbsey Twins in their matching Pittsburg Steelers’ jerseys, and I could only assume they were up to no good. Jeff and Tony were always up to no good. Not a day went by without one of them knocking over my books, kicking my chair, or shooting spitballs at me. Jeff even went so far as to write all the lyrics to “I Am the Walrus” on my math book. Who would write something like that on a seventh-grade girl’s book? What was he implying?
Anyway, here comes Jeff with his silly grin, and the first thing I noticed was his hair. Usually, he wore a hairstyle reminiscent of those fur caps that Russian military officers wear—sort of like a big hair helmet. But that night he’d done something different. He had an impossibly rigid part right down the center of his head—like he’d been trapped in a wind tunnel or hurricane or something—and it was held in place with some sort of glistening gel.
Then, as he got closer, an overpowering scent hit my nose. I guess it was some type of cologne. Or maybe he’d bathed in paint thinner. Whatever it was, it made me feel kind of faint and burned my nostrils. It was so strong that I could hardly focus on what he was saying, which, as I recollect, was something like, “You…good face. You…skate…me? We…on skates…circle rink…together…around? This good song… for skate.” Anyway, I dismissed these utterances as nothing more than his usual gibberish or a sorry attempt at a prank he and Tony had cooked up and skated off with my friends.
Later that evening, my friend Pam Hassen mentioned that she thought Jeff might have been making a pathetic attempt to ask me to skate, but then we both decided that no one could be that awkward and inept.
Whichever version of the story you accept, Melissa eventually came to regard me as something more than the awkward, chubby kid with the Bradshaw jersey and helmet hair. Sure, another six years would pass before we started dating, but then some things are worth waiting for. I never did figure out what changed her mind back in 1986. I guess some mysteries are best left unsolved.
Then again, maybe it was my mullet.
Jeff Kurtz is the editor of Healthy Living News.
