Sometime in 1991 (the years from 1990 through 1992 are a bit hazy in my memory) I was divorced and found myself with a great big bulls eye on my chest, the target of unseemly largesse among a few of the unattached women in my church. They offered everything I might need: casseroles delivered; someone I could talk with; home cooked meals; tickets to the symphony (actually, one ticket and companionship); housecleaning; furniture shopping and arranging; most things a wife would provide. (In a couple of cases, I think, everything a wife would provide.) Now, I’m not generally all that desirable and I found the situation pretty creepy and so managed, on principle and without exception, to avoid being the recipient of any of it.
Then there was Susan.
My son, my daughter, her friend, and I were having a great time at a church picnic, playing games, eating hot dogs, generally goofing around. I noticed a cute young woman in a group of folks at a picnic table and felt an unusual interest in meeting her. I was headed in her direction when my daughter’s friend upchucked unexpectedly and altered my course. The four of us packed up quickly and returned the now feverish girl to her family, the memory of the cute young woman fading during the ride home.
That fall, I remembered the cute young woman when I saw her setting up a social action display at the end of church service. Her name tag said ‘Susan’. Being the coward that I am, I devised a way to meet her that didn’t involve, you know, introducing myself.
I found a list of social action committee members, two of whom were named Susan. Through a process of deduction and blind luck, I called the correct Susan on the list (instead of the other, very elderly Susan) and invited her to light the chalice at the beginning of the service that coming Sunday. We met before service and I showed her in greater detail than I had ever shown anyone else exactly where the matches were, how to light the chalice, where to place the taper and when to return to her seat.
I also decided that she was way too young for me and that I ought to stand on my principle of not becoming involved with anyone from church. The fact that she didn’t seem to have an interest in me probably colored my decision.
My eight year old daughter had taken up the role of wingman, seeking out potential women for me to meet. I must admit that I encouraged her to strike up conversations with the correct Susan after church, feigning interest in social action events, raffle tickets and other such stuff that Susan was hawking. I’d then casually stop by to say hello and apologize if my daughter was bothering her.
It wasn’t until February that I ginned up the gumption to invite Susan for coffee. As we talked over the next few days, it became clear that Susan had not shown interest because she thought I was married (noting the child in tow) and that I was too young for her. Imagine our combined relief to discover that we were the same age and our marital status did not preclude the leisurely development of a truly lasting love affair.