If only…Dennis had held my hand, kissed my cheek, dedicated a song to me – done something that would have proved to me, for sure, how he really felt.  Instead Dennis constantly showered attention on other girls; grabbing the neighborhood girls and giving them big hugs all the time. 

Once he even forgot my name as a “fast-looking” girl grabbed his butt and gave it a solid pat-down.  (I still can’t stand that heifer).

After the butt-pat incident, I began to cool off towards Dennis.  I even told my family his new name was Dennis the Menace.

Then Dennis did a 360 of his own.  He invited me to meet his mother and took me, along with five of his brothers and sisters, to the local hospital.  I was cautious as we went into the Post-Surgical Unit.  What if this lady didn’t want to be bothered meeting some girlfriend of her son’s?  (Did I say girlfriend?)

We entered a cheery patient’s room full of flowers.  The Jordan kids rushed to hug their mother.  I couldn’t see her beneath the swarm of kids, so I just stood by nervously.  Dennis came back and nudged me towards his mother’s bedside.

Suddenly the children parted like the Red Sea and the most precious woman with a big beautiful smile held her arms out to me and said, “Miss Gigi, come on over here and give me a big old hug.”  (She knew my name!)

I ran into her arms and hugged her like she was my own long, lost mother.  She felt so good; smelled so good.  I was misty-eyed when we parted.

I felt like I had just come back home from a long trip.  I will never forget that moment.

But in reality, teendom is not always conducive to schoolgirl/schoolboy romance survival.  This was proven to me a week or so later, after I plopped down next to Dennis on his family’s living room couch.  His mom had just come home from the hospital.  I grabbed Dennis’ hand.  He yanked it away.  Red-faced and pissed off, I got up, walked away and never looked back.  That was the end of that romance.

Fortunately for First Love, somewhere in the shadows there stood a lanky, shy, bass guitar-player who was looking for a girl JUST LIKE ME.

His name:  Jamey Jordan.  Younger brother to Dennis Jordan.  Of course.

Now I know what you’re thinking:  Didn’t Mama teach me not to mess around with Family Folks?  Didn’t she warn me that things could get…well, messy?  Of course she did.  But it was hot and fun and summertime.   And our teen hormones were screaming:  Junior Miss and Never Been Kissed!  Nineteen-year-old R&B star and (maybe) headed for Viet Nam!

Jamey Jordan.  Not only downright pretty, but he liked to read books.  How special was that?  I gave him my favorite, Manchild in the Promised Land, by Claude Brown.   He gave me, A Raisin in the Sun, a play by

Lorraine Hansberry.  Jamey and I were ‘good friends’.   (Also known as the step before Deep Crush.)

And then came The Test. 

In our family there was a Rites of Passage that was specific for my generation.  All fall, winter and spring, my grandfather would go and get my alcoholic Uncle Charles from the clutches of street life at least 2-3 times a week.  That meant going down Heath Hill (named for my grandparents) to Hodiamont Street (at the streetcar tracks) after work.  That was a treacherous street corner during the day.  Shoe shine boys, paperboys, pimps and corner girls all shared the space.  But all honest business was absolutely taken care of before dark.  That included collecting wayward relatives.