This surfaced as I was rummaging through old photo albums looking for pictures of Dad to put in a memorial album. It's me and my first boyfriend, Henning. He is four and I am three. Now, if this does not look like a girl headed for trouble, I don't know what does.
Henning used to break me out of kindergarten (easy if I crept through a little play tunnel, stupidly positioned so that the exit was quite hidden, and snuck through a gap in the fence, so I suppose I was doing most of the breaking out). Then he would take me for rides on his mother's huge bike, where he had to stand up because his feet would not otherwise reach the pedals, and I sat in the saddle, lurching violently from side to side. We usually headed downtown to buy ice cream with money stolen from someone's purse. I don't know how we survived, but I seem to remember that we pulled most of this off without any grownups finding out. Although the ice cream lady must have wondered.
Well. It was probably best to get the scoundrel days over with early. I then proceeded to fall in love with only good guys: Elliot of E.T., Luke Skywalker, Frodo (of the book), Lee Adama, and then it culminated with my Pan, the best and nicest boy ever.
Mind you, Henning is a nice guy too, now, or so I hear.
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