Apologies to Paulette

While I'm on the topic of having caused pain I'm reminded of an incident that happened in 1963 (when I was 10 years old).

I should preface this by mentioning that I am a textbook "associative thinker". For example: Suppose you say something about "A". Then "A" will remind me of "B", which reminds me of "C", which reminds me of "D" (all of which happens in less than a second) so I respond with something about "D". This seems totally random unless you can follow my though processes (which is pretty much impossible). After 34 years of marriage my wife still has no clue what I'm talking about most of the time. But I digress... Back to 1963:

I was living on Bewley Rd. in Havertown, PA. The 'girl next door' was Paulette Devine. She was extremely pretty, but quiet, smart and serious. I was also 'friends' with the girl across the street (Georgette? Mustico) who had more of an outgoing personality and there were definite signs that there was a little jealousy between them.
One afternoon Paulette and I were hanging out on her porch and she suddenly got quiet for a few seconds and said:

"Do you like me?"

I suppose I should have sensed that it was a loaded question (but hey, I was only 10). Instead, I started thinking about things that I like and (being a bit hungry) I said:

"I'd rather have a cheeseburger".

In retrospect, that was probably the WORST response to that question uttered by a male since humans developed language skills. And predictably, Paulette started crying. I should have apologized but I was so mystified by her reaction that I just went home. I told my Mom and big sister what had happened and asked them to explain what I did wrong. They just kind of rolled their eyes at me. (And for the rest of her life my Mom told that story to pretty much anyone who would listen...)

A year later my parents separated and I ended up in a German boarding school (which is yet another long story) so I never found out what became of Paulette. So if anyone knows a Paulette Devine (maiden name) who grew up in Havertown tell her Pete truly regrets comparing her to a cheeseburger and he REALLY did like her.

Raymond - sorry dude!

I've always found it interesting what memories stay etched in your mind for your entire life. Here's one of mine:

Back in 1958 (when I was 5 years old) I lived on Antonia Drive in a quiet suburb of St. Louis. One day Raymond Sudheimer (my best friend) and I were in his basement playing with dart guns. Now, these guns were not like the modern day 'ultra-safe' ones (the result of decades of tort liability). The 'old school' ones fired hard plastic missiles at a sufficient velocity to actually break stuff (much more fun than the modern day equivalents, I might add).

So I was playing gun fighter and fired off a shot at Ray from a distance of 4 feet. To my dismay and horror, he screamed and covered his (right?) eye. His mother came running down the stairs and he ended up being rushed to the doctor. Although he had to wear an eye patch for a number of weeks there was (luckily) no permanent loss of vision.

Everyone spent the next few days yelling at me that I should have known better than to point a dart gun at somebody's face. I told them that I DID know better and I was aiming for his chest. NOBODY (not even my parents) believed me. And what hurt the most was that Ray's Mom wouldn't let me see him for the longest time afterward and things were never the same between us.

You know, it's been over 50 years but I remember it like it was yesterday. I WAS aiming for his chest when I pulled the trigger (yeah, I knew it might hurt a bit but I figured he'd get even with me pretty quick...) and I was absolutely stunned when he screamed. I couldn't BELIEVE I missed that badly from that close.

I moved away in 1961 and although I saw Ray once again for a few minutes (passing through in 1974) I didn't think to apologize. So Ray, if you ever trip across your name in this blog: I've NEVER stopped being sorry about what happened...

BTW - Among my less relevant memories are Ray's cool sandbox, the fire in his doghouse (when only the mother and one puppy survived), working on a model of a 1940 Ford together, and his Dad's 1950 or 51 black Ford Custom and Snapper lawnmower...