My Life in One Picture

 I found this as I was going through the memories of my parents’ photos.  Tears well up and drop to my cheek. I saw the little girl by the fence.  I was all of 3 years old yearning to be a part of the neighbours’ party.  That has been the story of my life: watching and thinking no one sees me.  Yet, God does.  

Reconciliation, not cancellation

 This, (what the article says) apparently is becoming the new norm in families.  When we start moving in this direction, accepting that it is actually good (not including abusive situations) to cancel a family member, we as society looses something valuable.  We lose generations of knowledge, a place of being.  The TED talk (below) is encouraging in today’s ‘cancel’ movement.  Reconciliation, and relationship is so much more valuable to the community as a whole, and for us as individuals.  This is where our super power shines. 

https://www.psychologytoday.com/intl/blog/social-instincts/202410/3-reasons-why-no-contact-families-are-becoming-a-new-norm

http://t.ted.com/ShcfV4Z

Part V - Locked and Loaded

His usually cool blue eyes and dimpled cheeks were not so glimmering nor so distinct as the realisation came over him that he had just flown for an hour and a half, only to get into a car for 6 more hours back in the direction he had just come, to then return again for the long drive to get onto a plane and fly back to Calgary.  What a weekend!  I think he thought I was crazy, but maybe he was the really crazy one for not fleeing while he still had the chance.  

As I explained that Gerry said Mom was having a nervous break-down, and Dad was disowning me, Ray looked bewildered and frustrated.   Finally the insanity of the situation settled over him and he decided to accompany me on this purpose driven journey of ending a relationship.

The weather was fantastically happy, and the ribbon winding road through the Hope-Princeton was hypnotically empty.  The dappling of sunshine and shadows played  on my hands while I held the steering wheel.  Had this been a vacation, it couldn’t have been more picturesque as we wound through the coastal rain forest and into the Okanagan dessert.  But it wasn’t a vacation, and I was uncertain what would be waiting for me.  We pulled off the highway, into a beach-front park in preparation for the next 10 minutes drive that would land us on my parents’ driveway, and we prayed our first prayer as a couple in need of intervention.  It felt totally natural.

It was supper time at the Peters’ and we arrived to the familiar smells of Mom’s cooking, the chatter in the kitchen just as everyone was sitting down to eat.  I was greeted in the entry by a startled father who had no inclination that his university daughter would be coming home, with a guy.  Somehow, through this whirlwind of a courtship, I neglected to tell Mom and Dad of what was going on in my life.  They still thought I was dating Gerry, and possibly going to become permanently entangled with him.  I thought they knew what rumours Gerry was spreading and needed a truth glimpse.  Dad felt he got a truth slap!

Ray greeted Dad with the utmost of respect owed to the Father of his desire, and then politely excused himself to make use of the washroom to wash up before dinner.  It all started so well!  That was when the fireworks began.  I was then met with a birage of, “what are you doing?  Who is this guy? What about Gerry? What kind of Christian girl hangs out with a guy while dating another?  Who do you think you are coming home without letting us know, and bringing a stranger?”  The raised voice expressed Dad’s frustration and anger, “under no uncertain circumstances...”  Not one to actually cry easily, especially in front of my Dad, tears were trying to push through my resistance.  When Ray came out, I dashed into the bathroom to hide and regain some composure.  There is nothing worse than the crazy noises I make while trying to hold back the dam of sobs.  Talking becomes an impossible task as I choke through the constrictions and contractions of my throat.

As I closed the door behind me, I could hear the raised voice of Dad, and then with utter surprise, I gasped!  It was Ray raising his voice to him.  Nobody every raised their voice to Dad!  Things were going from bad to worse in record speed! “How dare you talk to your daughter that way... if you really loved her... you have no idea what she’s been going through... as a Christian you should be... how can you say you love her when you speak to her like that?”  I was frozen in place wondering how I was ever coming out of the bathroom!  Finally the yelling stopped,  I emerged and we had the quietest dinner ever held in the Peters’ kitchen.

With the dishes cleaned away, I proclaimed that I was going over to Gerry’s to pick up a few things I had left there.  Ray and Dad were in the living room reading the local 25 page paper, one section split between them in a library still silence.  Dad inquired politely, “I suppose you’d like the sports section.” Ray responded, “No, I don’t follow sports but if there is a business section, I would like that.”  I knew Dad could like this guy if he gave him a chance!

Ray leaned over and kissed me as if he were reminding me of who I was, and who was waiting for me.  “Don’t be long,” were his parting words.  “Oh, I won’t!” I reassured him.  I’m pretty good at lying or I have no sense of time - these are things Ray should know about me.

Gerry was thrilled to see me!

Prince of Peace Official Lyric Video - Hillsong UNITED

Part IV Decisions, so Many Decisions

Vancouver is a beautiful city - in the sunlight on warm spring days, it truly is intoxicating.  I was drinking it up on the back of a Goldwing.  Lighthouse Park, Burnaby Mountain, even Wreck Beach (Surprise!  It's still a nude beach!) enveloped me and overloaded my senses.  The colours, scents, feel of warm rocks, taste of salty sea air...  it all gloriously presented life and an exuberant love that only God could have created.  I was infatuated with breathing this life, and Ray was right there.  We had deep conversations as we watched ferries come and go from Horseshoe Bay, and belly laughter as we ate bakery delights with seagulls diving overhead.  Dreams were shared and pasts explored.  Ray confidently stated that he couldn't get married for at least 2 more years as he had adventures to travel and dreams to fulfill.  I was rather taken aback and thought, “Who asked you?” yet felt reassured, he wouldn't be interested in me as a girlfriend because "he couldn't get married for at least 2 years."  As we sauntered around Stanley Park's Seawall, he took my hand.  I jerked it back, "I can't hold your hand.  I have a boyfriend, named Gerry, in Kelowna.”

Ray, never being daunted by a challenge, and as logical as the day is long, responded with, "What do you mean you have a boyfriend?  You can't have a boyfriend."  Was it arrogance to think I was whiling away my life on a dream of him, or was it disbelief that I could even get a boyfriend that left me wondering about him?    I was insulted.  He apologized and covered it all with thick compliments that reassured me of my beauty and winsome personality.  I laughed.  I’m such a sucker for sweet words, sigh.
"If you have a boyfriend, why isn't he here?"  I never thought that Ray, Mr. Professional, Mr. Polite, Mr. World Traveller, would even consider me as girlfriend material before, and because he was the Calgarian who only visited once a year, it never entered our conversations.  He was totally dumbfounded to think I could possibly have a boyfriend.

His curiosity did not wane.  He asked about Gerry in total bewilderment - why would I be dating him?   I just had spurned Ray, and he seemed totally undaunted.  Ugh, Ray could be infuriating!  This was not how I wanted this conversation to go.  I wanted to be leading the questioning, directing the conversation, and avoiding the mine fields of my heart.  Now I was telling him the tale of Gerry waiting trial - the Readers' Digest Condensed Version.  Ray's reaction?  "Dump him.  He doesn't deserve you."  And the conversation in my head was spinning with offensive and defensive retorts supporting my position as well as finding loop holes to escape the snares of Kelowna.  Through all these mental gymnastics, I realized the day had just become better.  I could completely relax knowing the truth had just set me free of the guilt that I was battling on the back of that bike. Ray now knew, I was "taken".  And maybe, just maybe, he knew I needed rescuing.  

I asked where he was staying.  Like any good Mennonite girl, I couldn’t send him away.  I had never seen my parents turn away a guest.  It wasn’t like I had a lot to offer, but I invited him to stay on the living room floor of an apartment I shared with four other girls.  It was the perfect apartment: minutes from our class, huge windows to allow the rainfall to cascade down in harmony, and one monster bedroom for two of us to share without feeling the other breathing.  The three other girls were married and their husbands waited for them within a half day's drive.  They slept on the living room floor for two out of the seven nights, making a very long weekend out of it every week.  Sharing the rent was dirt cheap; and we all were taking the same PDP program, enduring the same homework load, and eating the same diet of tuna melts.  It was group living at its best!  The living room was afloat with foamies and bedrolls.

That Friday night we enjoyed a wonderful meal in Gastown, and a warm summer's ride on his bike.  The beauty of sitting on the back of a motorcycle is the fresh scents of summer, the warm breeze through my hair, and the sound of nothingness blowing by.  No conversation was needed then and I could totally relax with the swaying rhythm of the bike weaving through the obstacles of life.  At the end of the perfect day, Ray audaciously requested a good night kiss.  I did remind him I had a boyfriend.  He didn’t see what that had to do with anything.  Flatly, I refused.  We chatted a bit longer not knowing really how to end such a delightful day.  When I stretched out my cramped legs and tired muscles from sitting on a motorcycle, I impulsively gave him a kiss.  Not a peck.  Not a brief lip linger.  But a full lip locked wet sensual kiss.  I don’t know what I really wanted but I do know I wanted him to remember me when he left.  Then quickly, before anything could register in his brain, I trundled off to bed quite satisfied with the day, and the kiss.

The following morning, I found him cooking up a storm with eggs in the kitchen all the while complaining we had no food.  We were girls who were never really hungry, and didn't even really care that the cupboards were bare.  With a twinkle in his eye, Ray insisted we go grocery shopping, and amazed me how much he could fit on his Goldwing.  That started the next days of leisure.  We toured the UBC area of Vancouver, roamed over to White Rock, ventured down cliffs to various beaches, and just walked and talked for hours.   He spouted off his dreams of travelling the world with his buddy Bill, living in a nomad's tent lined with Persian carpets, existing in the north being completely self-sufficient, and exploring the vastness of the world without a care in the world.  We discovered mutual likes, dramatic experiences, and laughed at our attempts of growing up, sharing multitudes of moments that had escaped my memory over the past couple of years.  Ray brought a carefree adventure back into my world. We found each other's hands and held on tight.  Ray's lips were so soft, cautious, and warm.  I found a new strength in myself to tell Gerry good-bye.  My heart had been made up, and it told my mind that an misplaced obligation is never a reason to give your life away.  When Ray rode away early Tuesday morning with promises of returning, I called Gerry to end our relationship.  I knew that even if Ray and I never happened again to meet, Gerry and I had to end.  I hadn’t realized the depression and feeling of duty that had beset my heart until Ray came and unlocked it.

Breaking up with Gerry was like going through a mine field blindfolded.  I called Gerry.  His answering of the phone so quickly caught me by surprise but none more than his claim of me sleeping with some guy this weekend.  I was speechless!  First, how did he know Ray had stayed the weekend? And second, how dare he accuse me of such an act when there were many times I had to fight off his strong physical advances towards me!  Pinned to the wall of his living room or to the floor of his kitchen, he would have raped me if I hadn't fought him off.  And he dare accuse me of sleeping with another guy?   Then Gerry went on to say he forgave me and that he would overlook this weekend.  Weird.  I wasn’t looking for forgiveness.  I ended the conversation abruptly, with a curt "Good-bye, Gerry.  We are done."

A few days later an old friend from high school surprised me with a phone call.  "Okay, who is this guy named Gerry?  How did he get my number?  And why is he saying that if I were a good friend of yours, I would be concerned about you?  Are you really pregnant?"  What ?!  How did he get Maureen's number? What right did he have to stalk my friends and spread rumours?   So many creepy scenarios were running through my mind.  I reassured her I was fine, not pregnant, and Gerry was the problem.

June birthday flowers arrived from Gerry, two dozen long stemmed roses with a matching amorous card.  For the first time in my life I didn’t know what to do with flowers.  I left them in the lobby’s garbage can.  Ray was coming back.

It was the weekend of Ray's next visit.  Struggling with the decision of what to do with Ray, the non-committed Christian, and now Gerry's fables, I was a mess.  Praying constantly while attempting to do homework, I found some peace in a decision that I made.   Ray would come to church with me.  Visit number two had Ray flying into Vancouver and renting a car.  He would stay for four days.  We had much to talk about.  This was getting serious too fast and I knew that I couldn’t marry Ray.  His faith in God was limited and mine was unlimited.  Too many important beliefs, values and views had to be hashed through before we could even contemplate a lifelong relationship.  We talked, it was intense.  I shared my faith in Christ and he agreed.  It was as if he would agree to anything so I decided to introduce him to my non-Baptist ways.  Finding the most radically charismatic church I knew, we headed there for Sunday service.  It was an all or nothing deal for me.  If he had any contemplation of living a conservative, fence walking lifestyle, I wanted to know now.  It was my girlfriend’s church so I knew it would be fine, or so I thought.  Hands raised, thunderous clapping and rousing amens all through the worship session caused a couple of raised eyebrows by Ray.  It was the pastor’s sermon that made me even step out of my comfort zone a little.  Jericho had nothing on this.  I wouldn’t have been surprised if the church walls came down as we marched around the church at the end of the sermon.  Yes, we marched, and then shouted.  Could it have been any more radical?  I think not.  

Hesitantly, I got into the warm car and wondered how this conversation would go.  Ray stopped everything, and with hands tightly gripping the steering wheel and looking straight ahead, he said, “If that is what church is, I want more.”  He proceeded to describe the hell and damnation sermons he grew up with, and the predictable alter call at the end of each service with the predictable same people who responded week after week.  We had a lovely sunny Sunday basking in knowing that our friendship would grow.  

The following week found me doubting if he really understood the seriousness and commitment of being a Christian.  Did he understand the depth of commitment it takes?  I wrote him a very long litany describing what I would want in a partner, husband, and father for my children.  Told him of the many miracles Christ had done for my family and how I wanted to pass this generational blessing on to my children.  10 pages later, I signed it and sent it.  I had become completely vulnerable, and surrendered all pretenses I had been holding on to.  We either would progress facing the same desires for our future or end this relationship because I wouldn’t be able to take another breaking of my heart strings.

In the meantime, Gerry didn’t stop calling.  He told me my father had disowned me, and my mother was having a nervous breakdown.  I had to stop seeing and sleeping with Ray.  WHAT?  And what in the world was he telling my parents?  Nightmares don't compare to the swirling out of control my life seemed to have taken.  And through it all, I was attempting to finish my last couple of months of university.

When Ray flew into town the next time, I greeted him at the door with this decision; he could spend the weekend at the apartment, Bev wouldn’t mind, or he could drive with me to Westbank to face my parents, and for once and for all, break it off with Gerry.  He wasn’t thrilled with the options but he reluctantly decided to drive with me.

Pt. III. One Way or Another

The Chuck (boyfriend #1) Era had ended.  Oh, I fell apart, cried like I was at an Oprah fest; lamented all the things I did and didn't do, begged for a second chance, and then I started to get angry.  Every emotion of a grieving 19 year old was wrapped into one sorry looking face.  It wouldn't stay that way for long as I became more and more determined to never let myself be that vunlerable again.   Ever.  With the naive heart shattered, a new day dawned.  It was a hazy horizon. Brevity of description, along with a punitive heart, found me relationally suicidal.

Returning to the summer camp prison of youth, I quite by accident fell into a  College and Career group at a new church in the evenings.  Boating, skiing, BBQs and laughter eased the heart burn and social isolation.  Because of the lack of a relational game plan, I just didn't play games of the heart at all, being brutally honest and up front with the males that dared: no idle chit-chat, or girlie flirtation.  That was until one guy made me his goal.  It has since become clear to me that girls who are not looking for a boyfriend are the most attractive of all.

Gerry was a self-assured, honours graduate of SFU, 6' 3", blue eyes, great build, and a witty sense of humour. He had moved back to Kelowna, owned his own home, speed boat, snow mobile, scuba diving equipment, and attended the local Pentecostal church where he was considered the most eligible of bachelors.  His friends were wonderful and it was through mutual friends that we met.  He pursued me.  The song by Blondie, pumped loudly out of the boat's speakers as he sang at the top of his baritone lungs,with a glint in his eye.

"One Way or Another".

One way or another, I'm gonna find ya'
I'm gonna get ya', get ya', get ya', get ya'
One way or another, I'm gonna win ya'
I'm gonna get ya', get ya' ,get ya', get ya'
One way or another, I'm gonna see ya'
I'm gonna meet ya', meet ya', meet ya', meet ya'
One day maybe next week, I'm gonna meet ya'
I'm gonna meet ya', I'll meet ya'
I will drive past your house and if the lights are all down
I'll see who's around
One way or another, I'm gonna find ya'
I'm gonna get ya', get ya', get ya', get ya'
One way or another, I'm gonna win ya'
I'll get ya', I'll get ya'
One way or another, I'm gonna see ya'
I'm gonna meet ya', meet ya', meet ya', meet ya'
One day maybe next week ,I'm gonna meet ya'
I'll meet ya' ah
And if the lights are all out I'll follow your bus downtown
See who's hangin' out
One way or another, I'm gonna lose ya'
I'm gonna give you the slip
A slip of the lip or another I'm gonna lose ya'
I'm gonna trick ya', I'll trick ya'
One way or another, I'm gonna lose ya'
I'm gonna trick ya', trick ya', trick ya', trick ya'
One way or another, I'm gonna lose ya'
I'm gonna give you the slip
I'll walk down the mall, stand over by the wall
Where I can see it all, find out who ya' call
Lead you to the supermarket checkout, some specials and rat food
Get lost in the crowd
One way or another I'm gonna get ya'
I'll get ya'
I'll get ya', get ya', get ya', get ya'
Where I can see it all, find out who ya' call

Retrospectively, it is creepy how the lyrics mimicked our relationship.  He did get me - partially.  In words and deeds, I became his girlfriend - my heart just didn't believe what my head was saying.  There was nothing wrong with this guy.  He gave me a fantastically exciting time, and we looked like the ideal couple.   When I returned to SFU, he continued to work in Kelowna for a courier service.  Not wanting to distract me from my studies, he kept his distance rarely ever visiting.  Sometimes he would call and hint at knowing what I had done that weekend, then with a laugh, tell me that I was wonderful.  Flowers were often sent with lovey little notes; no expense was spared.  On occasion, he would actually come to the Vancouver area  for work but didn't want "to bother me" so he hid in the shadows of my life.  I thought this was an amazing sign of self-control, self-sacrifice, and admiration on his part, giving me space.  He wanted me to not just do well, but do exceedingly well at school.  What guy would not put his own wants and desires first?  This one had me bewildered.  At times he just seemed to know exactly what I was doing and where I had been.  There were moments when I thought this strange, but I just cast it off and continued focusing on things at hand - university.

About November, my Mom phoned.  She never phoned!  In all the years I had been away from home, she never once called so this was something serious.  She asked if I was sitting and then proceeded to tell me that she read in the newspaper of Gerry's arrest for grand theft.  I was shocked! My parents couldn't believe it either - they loved him almost more than me.  Gerry had visions of taking over our the family business. He had won his way into my parents' hearts. He was the golden boy.

I tried to process all this, and then I called Gerry.  He said he didn't want me involved or dragged through the courts as a witness for him so it wouuld be best if I didn't know too much.  Soon it would all blow over.  It had more to do with another guy at work than him, and he was trying to straighten it all out without being a snitch.  It's nothing.  But this "nothing" seemed unbelievably something to me.  I did my next semester of student teacher training at home, in Westbank so I could be nearer to him during this turmoil.

One star-lit night as a gang of us were snowmobiling in the hills outside of Kelowna, I had a few moments to talk with one of his close friends who asked me why I was still with Gerry.  Many of his friends had disappeared, and numerous people thought him guilty.  I tried to explain the laws of the land that a person isn't guilty until proven guilty and who are we to assume otherwise.  Also, as Christians, do we abandon people when they really need us the most?  Good words, I thought, coming from a heart of obligation.  But the conversation nagged at me for many months as it brought up the question, when do you break up with someone if you are so committed during dating?  What if he is guilty - do I want to marry a convict, a liar, a con-man?

Just as I was starting to slow the relationship, Gerry was trying to speed it up.  He literally dragged me into jewelry stores, talked of our future, and pretended that there would never be a court date, only a wedding date.  His push came with enough force that I started to be repelled but felt trapped.  My good words kept coming back to haunt me.  What kind of Christian would I be if I left him now?

The month of May came to my rescue.  I had to return to SFU for the final summer session of school.  I ran to Burnaby.  Once again, my thoughts returned to my summer friends and I hadn't let Ray know I would be on top of a coastal mountain rather than in the valley of the Okanagan. Thus a letter was hastily drafted on a Monday, and surprisingly, he arrived on the Friday with an extra helmet in hand. Up I climbed onto the back of his bike.

No Dancing - Part II of Random Reminiscing to Relieve Midlife Meanderings

In order to get the full picture of my teens, (I wish I had pictures!  Sorry, no glossy colours to illustrate the moments) I have to back track a bit. The family packed up the house in Surrey mid-June to go and live in a 17 foot travel trailer in the newly acquired campground on Okanagan lake. (7 of us in that travel trailer - Mom cooked all the meals in there) The journey was one of true foreshadowing as lightning and thunder followed us all through the Hope Princeton and crescendo in Westbank.  For the next two months I was plunked into the campground office as the registration girl who welcomed campers. From 8 in the morning to 8 in the evening, I told people where to camp, sold candy, and took complaints.  For a girl with a depressed outlook on life, this was no happy camp greeting.  My Dad took me aside a couple of times letting me know our lively-hood depended on campers - don't scare them away.  I guess I had that much power!??  Who knew a 14 year old could frighten potential clients?

As the summer wore on, there were brighter days.  Even though most of my time was spent in a hot, non-air conditioned shack, with my face almost pressed to the window watching people frolic in the water, on the beach, picnick at their site, or just enjoy the Okanagan sunshine, I did have a few "summer romances" - sort of.  Every now and then there would be some guy that would love to be turned down, and would come back for more.  Eventually, I would let him win and we would spend evenings by a campfire, or afternoons playing ping-pong under the shade of the trees infront of the registration "office" (term used loosely as I viewed it more as a prison).  Addresses would be exchanged; more letters to be written, and then, the odd one would return the next year - with his girlfriend.  That was always disappointing and a perfectly good reason to not spend 7 cents on stamps again.  They were short relationships - mostly the length of their stay.  It gave me plenty of daydreaming moments, and lengthy letter writing material to Bev.

So, the summers became my dread and my joy.  At least once a summer, Mom and Dad would need some time off; apparently we kids didn't.  They would take off for an extended weekend, and Ron would be in charge (older brother) of the grounds, and I would take care of all the office dealings.  I can't remember what we would have for meals but I think Mom would freeze a couple of casseroles, and in reality, we lived on pop and chips.  Wouldn't you know it, there were always flooded toilets, broken water lines, and noisy campers when we were on our own.  Ron was great!  He didn't break down crying, and we all held it together doing the best we could - after all, we were just kids! Never were there any teens happier to see their parents come home than us!

One particular hot summer Friday evening, I was looking forward to closing the office and collapsing in the cool of the lake.  It was about 7 and in drove this motorcycle.  Hummm...  I wasn't impressed.  Now I had conflict staring me in the face.  As a family oriented campground, we only allowed families (you could discriminate back then), and definitely no motorcycles.  A couple of other campgrounds had horrible experiences where the Hells Angels would send in one guy on a bike, secure a site, and then the rest of the gang would ride in.  It was impossible to get them out and the RCMP were across the lake not wanting to really be bothered.  At one time, Kelowna heard a gang of 40+ bikers were heading their way, and they raised the floating bridge until th gang turned around and went back to Penticton.

To avoid any confrontation, I decided it best I stand on the porch, while the biker still had his helmet on, and let him know of this campground's policy.  Hands on my hips, looking as authoritative as possible, I told him that he couldn't stay.  Of course, he wasn't about to take this from some 16 year old girl, and asked to speak to the manager.  I curtly replied, "I am the manager."  It caught him a bit off guard, but not too much.  He quickly countered with, "I would like to talk to the owner."  I thought to myself, "This guy is small, and not too bright!  Sure, I'll let him talk to my 6'2" Dad who used to be a school principal.  He will just tell him in no uncertain terms to get back on his bike and head out."  So, I got Dad.  What did he do?  Asked all about this brand new Honda Goldwing, and even had him start it up.  Then, turning to me, tells me to put him in site #48.  This was humiliating!   What happened to the authoritarian, black & white, no bending the rules Dad??  So, I showed this smug motorcycle guy where to set up his tent.  Apparently, alone, he was just staying one night on his way to Vancouver. I hated being wrong - good he was only staying one night!

I spied him out of my window as he set up, headed to the showers, and then sauntered back to my shack.  What in the world does this guy want now?  Doesn't he know he really shouldn't even be here?  In he comes asking if I would like to go out for dinner and dancing.  Is he crazy?  I flatly said, "no."  He pushes the issue, and asks why not.  I, in the most non-emotional voice I could muster, probably blushing like crazy but not about to give him the pleasure of noticing, replied boldly, "I'm a Christian. I don't dance."  Now, that should have turned any guy around, you would think.  He then states, with corners of his mouth turned up, that he is too.  As if that would impress me.  Without even missing a beat, out comes my response, "What are you, a Baptist?" in the most sarcastic tone.  He says, "yes!  How do you know?".  I say, "figures."  As could be noticed, I didn't have a high regard for the Baptist boys in my school. Can't you just feel the love emanating from my Christian character?  He then says, "Okay, how about just dinner?  Have you eaten?"  Puzzled by the boldness and persistence, I inquire, "You want to go out for dinner with me? I don't think so."  Again, R. Koenig (registration card name, I could have quoted his phone number and address in Calgary, but he still had yet to tell me his first name) insisted on spending time with me and said he had nothing else planned for the evening, and it was a beautiful warm night for a ride.  He just thought it would be pleasant.  He then suggested we go out for ice-cream as he noticed a Mr. Freeze ice-cream parlor in town when he drove through.  My defenses were low.  I really loved motorcycles and was dying to get onto that new Honda of his.  So, I relented and agreed, ice-cream would be lovely.  He would have to wait an hour for me to get off work.

Nervously, I mounted the bike that did not have a sissy bar/back rest, and only had the standard issued flat seat.  In my mind, I realized that there really was nothing to hang on to but him.  I was far too determined not to give in to any miscommunication about me squeezing him so I willed my arms to stretch long enough to grip under the seat.  He gunned it.  With great accelerated force, we took off and I hung on for dear life - it was fabulous!  The company, ice-cream and chat weren’t bad either.  (For all those silly teen girls, I never once touched him, nor him me - I kept the walls up)

Packed up, he checked out the next morning by asking for an address he could write to for next years' reservations.  Smooth, isn't he?  He thought he might return.  I gave it to him, and said good-bye.

In a couple of months, I received a post card from Dallas Tx where he had been attending a conference.  At Christmas, he sent a postcard from Morocco.  A letter came in the spring and another one just before he returned as he was heading towards Vancouver.  He stayed for an extra day that time and we went to Kelowna for dinner - no dancing. Letters continued back and forth.

That January, my Dad needed two brand new motorhomes to be driven from Lethbridge back to Westbank.  Ron was home from TWU and Dad thought it was the perfect day to pick them up.  We all jumped into his single engine Piper plane, and flew across the Rockies almost touching the snow pack.  It was thrilling!  Into the new motorhomes we climbed, and Dad took off back for home.  Ron drove the 30' and I had the 25' one.  Upon reaching Calgary, we started to encounter snow.  Stopping at McDonald's, I decided to phone the only person I knew in Calgary, Ray.  Nervously I dialed at the pay phone and his dad answered.  Crazy day - it was Ray's birthday and he was out for the evening.  Yes, he would wish him a happy birthday for me.  Ron and I turned the motorhomes back onto the highway and headed into one of the worst snow storms I had ever driven through.  As long as I could see his tail lights I knew I would be okay.  After all, anywhere he could go, I could too, right?  Passing the semi-trucks was a bit dicey, and many had just pulled over out of the blizzard.  I was sure the back end of mine was sliding as I careened around the corners, but I had to keep up with Ron.  I never wanted to lose sight of the tail lights!  Finally, we stopped for a brief break and Ron came into my RV.  His goal, with the snow storm, Dad would have to land in Cranbrook; we could beat him home!  All things were a competition with Ron.  I just wanted to stay up with him.  When we reached Golden I was happy to stop for gas.  Never will I forget the looks of these old timers as they were opening the station upon our arrival.  I guess the sight of a young female driving one of the newest motorhomes, alone, must have made them wonder. We made it home all right, and before Dad.

Letters from Ray kept coming.  He was planning on another couple of days at Rest Acres, but this time he would be accompanied by his buddy, on his identical Gold Wing.  And they came.  Ray had packed a picnic basket, and we rode to the hill in Summerland.  Asking if I would like a glass of wine, I once again responded with audaciousness, "no".  That didn't faze him, he had plan B - nice cold iced tea as well.  He really thought of everything.  Never did he make a move to become more than friends, and that suited me just fine.  As far as I was concerned, this mild mannered pervert was not a Christian, and there wasn't a hope that it would ever become, "we".  He sure did write well though.  I was a sucker for intelligent, well versed, eloquent writers.  But, I wouldn't let him come close. 

In the meantime, there were still other campers who kept me amused.  Life was not waiting on pause for Mr. Right to get it right.  And then I left for Trinity to experience what having a boyfriend was all about.  Did I need to tell my summer friends of this?  No.  They were friends, nothing more, and certainly not less.  My heart was shattered, a couple of boyfriends came and went, and I returned home each summer to continue working at the campground.  That was until my SFU PDP started in May of 1980; the spring that Mount St. Helens blew her top!

I wrote Ray, letting him know that although the campground was open and waiting, I wouldn’t be there.  I would be taking classes in the grey dullness of SFU.  Not knowing where I would be staying, he would do best to contact Ron & Marilyn in Aldergrove.  They would be able to direct him if he should be coming to Vancouver that year.  The letter was sent on Monday, and on Friday, there standing outside of my class, with helmet in one hand and a newspaper in the other, was Ray.  Shocking!  “Do you go here too?”  I had no idea what to say!  Blushing, stammering, and not knowing what to do, it just bubbled out like a typical blonde moment in my brain.  He didn’t look impressed.  I guess he envisioned a slightly different greeting.  I climbed on his bike and we went off for dinner – no dancing. 

That weekend actually became a pivotal point in my life.  They happen with no fanfare, no warning, and no forethought.  The weather was idyllic.  Vancouver was glistening with blues, whites, spring colours, and the scent of intoxicating infatuation.  Oh it was all wonderful – every place I suggested to see seemed more romantic than the last.  This was torment!  Then, at the Sea Wall, he reached for my hand.  I pulled it back, and once again stammering, I confessed, "I can't hold your hand.  I have a boyfriend, named Gerry, in Kelowna.”  Oh, that is another very long story. As I look back, we could call him Gerry the kleptomaniac.

Part III next week.