The Men and the Boys: Johnny

Oh Johnny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen and down the mountain side
The summer's gone and all the roses falling
It's you, it's you must go and I must bide

But come ye back when summer's in the meadow
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow
Its I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Johnny boy, oh Johnny boy I love you so.

I was in the fourth grade when you walked into my life. You were in the third, and so my sister teased me for months that I was "into" younger men.

You had me at the hello that never came. Dusty blonde hair, big blue eyes, and ears that stuck out a mile. I loved those ears. I wanted to pull on them, and once, built up the nerve to do just that. We were on the playground, I ran up to you, gave the left one a good yank, then bolted. In the ridiculous, stupid signals that kids send, I was saying that I liked you.

You didn't get it. Men usually don't. And so our relationship continued in its perfect, most pure form: you ignored me, and I ignored you.

Alas, it just wasn't meant to be. I didn't exactly come to terms with the fact that you weren't into me, so much as I got bored and moved on. Hey, I was a kid. Kids aren't famous for their attention spans. I'd liked you for at least a year by then, and a year to a kid is like, forever. Besides, I figured that when I was in high school, you'd still be in the eighth grade. How uncool is that?

We went our separate ways, and to separate schools. Years later, I bumped into you at the skating rink. I was with my friends, and you were with your girlfriend. She was short, had long, straight hair, and a squeaky voice. Absolutely everything I wasn't, and everything I would never be.

Oh, well. You were never mine, and so I had no right to be jealous. Every man is entitled to his tastes, right?

Every woman is entitled to her tastes, too. Can't deny that you were hot. But you didn't hold a candle to your older brother.