Love

This is so cute.

Preschool Romances Can Be Sweet While They Last

With Valentine's Day this week, love has been very much in the air around the Goble household.

My daughter, age 5, has met the man of her dreams. He has red hair -- she calls it orange -- and they play "American Dragon" together. She put TWO My Little Pony stickers on his Valentine.

She used to tell me that she was always going to stay with me and be my daughter. Now she tells me she won't be living at home forever. She's going to marry this boy as soon as they're old enough, and she's going to have twin babies -- a boy and a girl, of course.

She remains committed to always being my daughter, at least.

My daughter's had boyfriends before -- lots of boyfriends. For a while there, I think she had a new one every week. That was just a game, though; there was no emotional attachment to those boys.

I've seen her look at this one. She really likes this young gentleman, and he seems to like her, too. I hear he even told his grandma about her -- serious stuff.

I asked her if she'd kissed him and she says she'd like to but she hasn't because they're not allowed to do that at school. Score one for the preschool teachers.

It will all come to heartbreak, I suppose. They'll both start kindergarten in the fall, and they'll almost certainly be in different school districts. They probably won't get to see each other after that.

Sure, it's just a 5-year-old's puppy love, but it means a lot to her. I can't just dismiss it, because I still treasure the memories of my first boyfriend, back when I was 4.

Bryon Ray was just my age and lived on the next street over from us. I could follow a path through the big field next to my house and get to his back yard without ever stepping out on the street.

He had a big brother named Ray, a tire swing and a cherry tree that was just perfect for climbing. I never climbed a tree before or since, but I could make it way up that one.

Bryon's parents let him do all sorts of cool stuff, like go to haunted houses and amusement parks. He could spell "Y-E-S" when I was still having trouble with "N-O."

He was cute, too. He had white-blond hair and big brown eyes.

Bryon was, in short, the epitome of little-kid cool. And he was all mine. It was like living a dream.

Because I lived on a dead-end street on the outskirts of a quiet village, I'd never had a regular playmate before I found him. I was lonely. He changed everything.

Then, somewhere in the course of kindergarten, his parents announced they were moving to Florida.

Bryon and I were both heartbroken. We promised to love each other forever. Over the next year, our mothers wrote letters for us. I still have some of the pictures he sent me in the mail.
The next summer, he came back for a visit. We had one last, precious afternoon together. We played in my basement and when no one was looking, he kissed me.

Then he had to leave.

Eventually, the letters stopped. That was the normal course of things, I guess. If he hadn't moved, we probably would have drifted apart anyway.

But I still remember him sometimes, when I come across one of those old photos or see kids climbing a tree the way we used to. Or when I see my daughter looking at her little friend.

I never really got over losing Bryon until I met another guy who was the epitome of cool and all mine. That guy, I married -- so if he ever decides to move away, he'll have to take me along.
If my daughter is incredibly lucky, she'll find a guy like her daddy someday. Until then, she'll have her memories of "American Dragon" to pull her through.
Ah, love.

Originally published February 18, 2006