Saturated with girls

It's official. LegoGuy has a girlfriend. He's been fighting them off all year, and last week was finally reeled in by a cute little thing with highlights in her hair and a budding figure. They've eaten together in the cafeteria, hung out on the playground, and, on the last day of school, held hands during orchestra.

"I'm really going to miss her this summer," he sighed. I love the fact that he hasn't figured out how to use the phone to invite her over, or arranged to meet her at some clandestine location after we've all gone to bed. He's clearly puzzled by the feminine mystique: why she gets insanely jealous seeing him talk to a girl he's been friends with since 1st grade, or pouts when he doesn't immediately rush to her side during recess, or scribble her name on his arm in blue ink. He likes her, but he hasn't been swept away in the manner that she has. Thank God for small miracles.

In the meantime, Sport came home completely exhausted from his last day of school. "I was saturated with girls," he told us. He'd been hugged all day as the girls in his class were distressed at the thought of not seeing him over the summer. "My neck is chapped," he complained. I found a handwritten note in his backpack, a heartfelt message printed in nearly illegible letters. "I will miss you, Sport!"

Aaah, puppy love -- a necessary yet somewhat painful step on the path toward maturity. I remember it well. In the 7th grade, Steve asked me to "go around" with him. He popped the question the day before summer vacation. Shyly I accepted, and our status improved significantly in the eyes of our middle school peers. We were now a "couple". I didn't see him again until September, when he broke up with me and starting going with another girl. That was okay, as I'd fallen deeply into puppy love with a church boy. I would suffer from that particular crush for the next three years.

E was 2 years older than me, Hispanic, with beautiful green eyes and a dreamy smile. I was so obsessed with him, I filled my diary with the most mundane of details: whether or not he'd looked my way, smiled at me, ignored me, brought some other girl to church, sat nearby. The intensity of my feelings for him were overwhelming. I was too shy to do anything about it, and in high school, a 2-year difference is practically a gulf as wide as the Grand Canyon. But I really believed I loved him, and when someone told me what I felt was "puppy love," I was furious. I felt as if I'd been dismissed.

To make matters worse, my dad teased me relentlessly, chipping away at the fragile layer of self-esteem I'd managed to build up by getting braces, a good haircut, and eye make-up. But my mother was kind, letting me buy a ring with E's initial. I wore it to school, pretending we were together. It was a harmless fantasy.

As far as LegoGuy's romance goes, I'm treading very carefully. One boy's puppy love is another's True Love.