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A cheap imitation of true love
I hated seventh grade science.
Probably because it was my first period class and Mrs. Colson was old and gray, which made science old and gray. It was all I could do to get myself up and out the door to catch the school bus with old and gray seventh grade science looming on every morning's horizon. Once there, I would slouch in my chair, still trying to wake up, barely able to care two hoots about science, about school, about anything. I was clinging to my C- minus average, only because a D, even a D+ would earn my parents' ire.
Then, in mid-January, he came. Young, handsome and with a baritone that could melt butter, he opened the doors of seventh grade science. Not because it was somehow suddenly fascinating, but because he was totally fascinating. To watch, to listen to, to daydream over.
I was smitten. His every word was pure gold and I hung on every syllable. Suddenly, seventh grade science mattered. Catching the bus mattered. What I wore, mattered. Fixing my hair mattered. Everything, suddenly, miraculously, mattered. Science homework became a priority and my test scores improved by leaps and bounds.
Of course, I knew nothing about him. Just that he was a student teacher, mine to behold until the end of the college semester. Today, I don't even remember his name. I don't remember if he was short or tall, thin or fat, I couldn't even tell you the color of his hair. But I do remember the power of my first crush, that instantaneous infatuation.
Of course, he had no idea. To him I'm sure I was just another awkward seventh-grade girl with stringy hair and uneven knee socks. Did he even feel the weight of my constant stare? I doubt it. In due time, his assignment came to an end and he moved on, never looking back, I'm sure.
When he left, science was, once again, old and gray, and mercifully, it too came to an end.
When I look back on that brief episode of my life, I marvel at the power of that infatuation. And the danger.
Of course in 1968, public schools were different. We had strict dress codes, for one. Dresses or skirts and blouses for the girls, slacks and button up shirts for the boys. No T-shirts, no blue jeans and street shoes only, tennis shoes were strictly limited to PE. Teachers also adhered to this dress code, with the women in heels and dresses and the men in ties with sport coats. In that atmosphere, my infatuation was completely safe. It was only later in life that I would learn the dangers of unbridled infatuation.
They can come out of nowhere, but it seems we're most vulnerable when something about life in general or our own life in particular is less than ideal. And these infatuations aren't limited to members of the opposite sex, nor are they always romantic in origin. Someone new enters the scenery of life, a chance encounter, a blossoming friendship or an engaging delivery man, and our thoughts are consumed. "If only I could be more like her, then I could have her life (which is so much better than mine)." Or, "he always laughs at my jokes, greets me with a smile and compliments me on my dress or my hair or my smile. Why can't my husband treat me that way?" And so, we are caught in the whirlpool of infatuation.
Mrs. Colson and Mr. Student Teacher taught the exact same material using the same books and the same curriculum. But it was only when he was saying the words that the words mattered. That's how it is with infatuation. "She wouldn't let her husband get away with that, so why do I?" That thought, unattached to an infatuation barely registers. But attach it to the object of infatuation, and a breach is formed. "He listens when I talk, not like my husband, who barely knows I'm in the room," is a thought with no audience apart from infatuation. But in the powerful riptide emotion called infatuation the breach widens. Without careful, immediate attention, a breach, seemingly so small, so harmless, increases a hundred-fold and is soon a great chasm.
I've seen it happen. I've seen these infatuations, misunderstood from the outset, ruin more than one marriage and completely destroy entire families. Infatuation is a powerful emotion that catches us unaware and can pull us far from who we thought we were, far from where we thought we were going. Infatuation feels a lot like love. However, it is, at best, nothing but a cheap imitation. True, abiding love is not something that happens to us so much as it is choice we make, day-by-day, come what may.
"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails..." I Corinthians 13:4-8 (NIV)
Things you won't see in heaven: Seventh grade love letters
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