Friday, May 09, 2008

The Boyfriend Chronicles: #7

At twenty-two, I was not ready to be the mother of a twelve-year-old. How could I possibly discipline a child more than half my own age? His younger brother was ten. Two kids. A mother. At twenty-two. Um, yeah, as the saying goes, "it was a time in my life..."

We met on the dance floor. I'd seen a motorcycle in the parking lot, and once I walked into the dance hall, I immediately recognized it's owner. He wasn't wearing the typical do-rag or leathers, but the goatee gave him away. I knew. I just knew. He didn't seem like a typical dancer, and his off-beat humor struck me somehow. What started with a humble (and jerky) west coast swing dance ended in a moonlit conversation deep in the warm, humid countryside.

He was twelve years older than I, but in true honesty, our age difference mattered little. He was tall, handsome, and witty. We shared a passion for imaginative writing, and we both enjoyed the usual movies, hikes, and dancing (okay, that's normal for me anyway). He only had his kids every other weekend, so it didn't really click with me that he was a father. My own life was so different, I couldn't quite understand what divorce was like. ...Now I know.

Two wonderful months saw me growing and adapting to a different life and new roles. I enjoyed being around his kids, and I was learning how to accept what people would whisper about our age difference. That was probably the hardest part: we were fine with our age gap, but nobody else liked it. I'm sure you're sitting there with that smug, disapproving look, too. And I still don't care. I wouldn't change dating him for anything.

The end was not pretty, though, and I blogged about it then. You can go back and try to find those posts... I'm not going to sort through them again. One day, he ended things. The next week, I found out he was dating some other woman. Now they're married. I do hope they're both happy. I'm also glad it's not me. He had a history of cheating on women, and I think he did cheat on me. I don't know. It's over now, and I've moved on.

I still think about him, though, and wonder why I went after him. Part of me misses the boys: they were young gentlemen, and I hope the best for both of them. All of me knows, however, that I was not (and am not) ready to be a parent, especially to a teenager. I still feel like one sometimes!

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