Boys will be boys by Gideon    CREATIVE COMMONS    FLICKR.COM


I was settled in to my dormitory and looking forward to my first art class. I arrived at class just a few minutes before a tall, lanky man with curly, reddish hair entered the room. He puttered down the isle in a hound’s tooth suit leaving a trail of smoke behind him as he nursed a briar pipe. As the smell of the sweet tobacco filled the room, I was sure Sherlock Homes had just stepped out of the past from the library upstairs.


Mr. Lockwood’s mumbled speech about Art Structure ended abruptly as if his train of thought had left the station. Instead of finishing the lesson he assigned several chapters to read from the used book I had purchased in the college bookstore. The thick book was heavy and filled with pictures of buildings, bridges, skyscrapers, airports, furniture, and anything else that involved using perspective.


 I would not be “doing art” until next semester, unfortunately. I did not want to study architecture; I wanted to paint blue summer skies with billowy clouds and flowers and majestic mountains and trees and animals. Isn’t that what art majors do?


The way Jerry said “hi” to me every time we met on campus gave me the feeling he was going to ask me to the Sweetheart Banquet. He didn’t look a day over twelve. He did ask me to go and when I told him yes he almost passed out from holding his breath so long until I answered. We both laughed! I sewed a sweet dress using Ruth’s sewing machine and she took a picture of us before we left. I think we looked a lot like Annette Funicello and Bobby Rydell.


I was shocked when an guy friend, Rell, sent me three red roses on Valentines Day; my first flowers ever! I liked getting them because they made my two roommates a bit jealous but happy for me! The note wasn’t mushy, just “thinking of you”. I was going to feel awkward the next time  Ruth and I rode around with him in his car; besides, he had a girlfriend back home!


If it wasn’t for the boy sitting in front of me, I would have hated Old Civilization class. Hank’s dry sense of humor about the Dark Ages made me muffle my giggling in my hands but it made Professor Crackle check to see if  his barn door was open. When Mr. Crackle saw the mischievous grin on the dude’s face from Hazard, Hank lost his freedom of speech for the whole semester. I lost my sanity listening to Crackle teach about the endless blood baths of the Middle Eastern Babylonians, Medes and Persians, the greedy Alexander the Great, and the demonic rampage of the Roman army.


“What is a gospel team?” I asked my new friend, Micci Jo. She explained it was four to five people who go to a church to minister to the people. One guy preaches, someone leads the singing, everyone gives their testimony on how they got saved, and someone leads the youth activities for fun. I was pleasantly shocked to find out we were going to North Fairfield Baptist Church in Hamilton, Ohio…my home church! My pastor, Bob Skirvin, was a Cumberland College alumni so he must have asked for a gospel team.


Tommy preached Friday night to a very attentive group expressing amens. People fell to the knees at the pews and altar to pray for the lost. Saturday night the church was packed and before Tommy finished preaching, people were getting saved or rededicating their lives back to the Lord. One of the ones that got saved was my teenage brother!

My opinion of Tommy changed for the better that weekend.I had no idea he could preach like that. My friend, Ruth, who was friends with him, had been trying to get me to let him ask me out, but I refused for some reason. Tommy was a fun guy who laughed easily but he seemed to be too happy so likely he was covering up something. He had a weird side that demanded attention like having funerals for dead cats. Little did I know he was going to play a role in my life later on.

I was enjoying my new freedom at college but I was struggling with decisions since my dad usually made them. I was having trouble with boys giving me attention. I had one date in high school and would have had one more if the guy hadn't been Catholic; my dad made me call off the date out of fear I would end up marrying him.

I believe my dad's judgmental attitude and fear of boys dating me rubbed off and made me overly cautious and judgmental at times. But, I was soon discovering when

                            "boys will be boys"

                            can be a good thing!

Did you inherit some negative attitudes while growing up? Did you over come them? If so, would you please share how in the comment section below? Thanks!