Hometown Memories: My First Crush

My first little flame was a little boy named Michael, in first grade. We became the best of friends instantly, and we were inseparable. I had a crush on him, although I didn�t really comprehend at that age what that truly implied. That whole experience just gave me a really nice feeling, and to a six year old, that�s good enough.

I liked Michael so much that I took him home with me one day. I don�t remember exactly how this came to be (this was a very, very long time ago, folks), or how I got him past my mother, but I do remember that I snuck him in after school, and even went so far as hiding his shoes, so no one would realize he was there. We both made a beeline for my room where I excitedly showed him my toys, my books and whatever else was special to me.

We were having a wonderful time together, but as the clock kept ticking and the dinner hour was getting closer, I began to panic. Michael had to start heading home but I didn�t know how this was going to happen. Because although I had successfully snuck him in, I was afraid that I wouldn�t be able to successfully sneak him out. My room was next to the kitchen, and in order for him to get out of our house, he�d have to walk through there to get to the front (or even back) door. And since my mother was in there preparing supper, and would be there for quite some time, I had no idea how in the world he could leave without her noticing.

I knew that the only way this was going to happen is that I would have to tell her what was going on. Not knowing how she would react, I decided to break the news to her gradually. But before I stepped into the kitchen to speak with my mother, I told Michael that it might be a good idea for him to hide under my bed in the meantime. He agreed and did just that.

So I stepped into the kitchen and the conversation went something like this:

Me: �Mom, can my friend come over to play?�

My mother: �Which friend?�

Me: �Michael�

My mother: �Who�s Michael?�

Me: �A little boy that I go to school with.�

My mother: �Okay�

Me: �Can he come over soon?�

My mother: �How about on the weekend?�

Me: �Can he come over sooner than that?�

My mother: �Sooner than the weekend?�

Me: �Yes�

My mother: �When?�

Me: �How about today?�

My mother: �Today? It�s a school night. The weekend is better.�

Me [with heart pounding]: �Well, he�s kind of here already...�

My mother: �Wha...? What do you mean he�s here? Where?�

Me: �In my room�

My mother: �In your room?!?�

Me: �Under my bed...�

I can�t begin to describe the stunned look on my mother�s face when I announced to her that there was a little boy under my bed. She dropped what she was doing, hurried into my room, knelt down, peeked under my bed and gasped �Oh my God, there really is a little boy under here!�

I remember my mother being very upset, but not because I had brought him home; she was upset because she was certain that Michael�s parents must be frantic since their son had not returned home after school, convinced that he�d gone missing. We immediately got him out from under my bed and sent him home.

Needless to say that this story � that my mother laughs about today - has been told over and over again throughout our family; my own children have heard it from their grandmother. And every now and then I catch myself smiling as I reminisce about that day, wondering where that little boy � who is now a grown man � is today, and whether or not he remembers that afternoon? And if he does, has he shared it with his own children (if he has any)? Does it make him smile when he thinks about it? Does he ever wonder what happened to me?

No matter how many years go by, I will always remember the day I hid a six-year-old little boy under my bed. It�s just priceless...