Nerd Therapy Session: Crushed

This week’s guest submission (keep ’em coming folks!) comes to us from Kirk AKA “Donkey Hoatie” on the Mego Museum message boards.


It’s a tale I think we all can relate to and that is your first crush on somebody and how it rarely goes well.

The other night, my wife and I were talking and she mentioned that her teaching partner, our daughter’s current teacher, had noticed that she was spending more time around the teacher’s desk than usual. Apparently, there’s a boy who sits in her cluster of desks that’s been bugging the shit out of her. So, a couple times a day, my daughter goes to the teacher and tells her about how much said boy is getting all up in her business.

I told my wife that it was most likely that the boy just had a crush on the our girl and school was almost over, so it’s pretty much a non-issue. Well, we asked herabout it and I told her that the boy is probably bugging her so much because he likes her, to which she responded, “Yeah, he asked me today to give him a smoochy-boochy, but I wouldn’t. And he gave me a note that said, ‘I Love You.’”


So, there you go, the Donkey isn’t a total idiot.


My daughter and I talked about her issue some more on the way to school today and I told her that even though the boy likes her and she doesn’t like him back, she should still be nice to him. She said she would and I said that was the right thing to do because, he may be annoying, but it’s no reason to treat someone badly. She nodded her head and demanded that I turn Radio Disney back on. So I did.


I guess what I told her is true, but what I really wanted to tell her was the real truth. Never getting a chance with your first crush really hurts. Odds are, it will haunt you throughout your life. I remember being a 2nd grade boy and getting my first crush.


Look, I wasn’t always the smooth Donkey you happen to know right now. For the better part of a decade, I was crippled with anxiety and shyness any time a girl walked into a room. From about the age of 7 until around 15 or so, I don’t think I ever strung more than a sentence or two together in front of a girl. And most of that was because I didn’t get the girl.


The first time I saw her I was smitten. All I could think was, “She is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” I couldn’t stop thinking about her and her long hair and blue-gray eyes. The song, Most Beautiful Girl, would come on the radio and once he’d start singing, “Hey, did you happen to see the most beautiful girl in the world?” I’d think to myself, “Yes. Yes I did.” Then, I’d wonder what I could do to make her mine.


I’d close my eyes and picture us together, married, living happily ever after. I’d write her notes about how much I loved her, how often I thought about her, and ask her to send me something back if she felt the same.


She never did. It’s like I was invisible.


I concocted a plan to become a rock star, sure that would be the way to her heart. I imagined myself on stage, guitar in hand, crooning to her as she leaned in at me and smiled. Throngs of admiring girls would be worshipping me, but I’d only have eyes for her. I’d lean in and lasso her in with my eyes and my songs. Unfortunately, we didn’t have a guitar kicking around at home. All we had was a piano. So, I took lessons, hoping that it would at least lead to a glamorous musical career with the keytar.


It didn’t.


My notes wouldn’t change her mind. My songs wouldn’t either. Every plan I came up with was foiled. And, after nearly two years of incessant grade-school wooing, I had to face the harsh truth: it was time to give up.


But, just because I gave up didn’t mean that the hurt went away. After all, that’s why they call it a crush. I’d see her with other guys, smiling and laughing, and wonder why it couldn’t be me with her. I’d wonder what she saw in them, when it was so abundantly clear that we were meant to be together. I was her prince, she just didn’t know it. I’d take a bullet for her, but she just deflected all my advances. That’s the kind of pain that comes with your first crush. In fact, every time I’d hear her name, I’d die a little inside. When I see her now, the pain is there, just as raw and open as it was back in the 70s.


Yup. Lynda Carter, I just don’t think I’ll ever get over you.