It is entirely possible that some of the guys I dated in my high school or church group were actually shy. I preferred to think of them as gentlemanly. In hind sight, I believe that the ones that were really shy were only afraid of being turned down. They just couldn’t see themselves as actually being attractive enough to get the attention of a girl that they were interested in. What if she says “no”? Being an adolescent girl in the 60's, and driven by raging hormones as we all are at that age was tough. It's really hard on a girl, and I've been told by my male peers that it's equally tough on the boys at that age. There are all kinds of insecurities, fears, uncertainties, and of course, there is the added challenge of school.
I took into consideration that a boy that I was interested in at the time might not be the least bit interested in me. Mostly I just knew that the guy might be a bit shy, or at least a gentleman. Those were the ones I was attracted to. It also gave an interesting challenge, in that I had to be a little more reserved myself, giving the poor guy a little wiggle room; and waiting was not easy for me.
When I was attracted to a boy, I made it known through whatever venue was at my disposal. Usually, the initial display on my part was eye contact. If I'd known then that all I needed to do was to make eye contact, smile and turn to walk away, I wouldn't have put any young man on the spot by approaching them with a really shallow, stupid question (also known as a line). Yes, girls do that too. It was brazen, I know, but in those early adolescent years, many of us didn't know many of the subtleties of attraction. We send out signals with the subtleness of a moose in heat. I was one of those that had no shame.
The high school halls were filled with the scent of English Leather (testosterone) and Chantilly (estrogen). What a nocuous, if not combustible combination. Boys beat their chests and hooted while the girls paraded up and down the halls nodding, smiling and blushing; pretending to be shy and embarrassed.
The Rec. or Recreation Center, our local public gym, was what was available to us for basketball, volleyball, gymnastics, dance lessons, and parties. This was the perfect opportunity for the hormone pumped youth to show up and get close … really close. A dance instructor was provided, but she couldn’t seem to get us interested in the Fox Trot or the Waltz. She would show us what to do and we would pair off to slow dance. You couldn’t slip a piece of onion skin paper between the dancing couples. The poor woman finally threw in the towel when we’d start in on The Twist. She started showing up only as a chaperone, to remind us that the music had stopped and we could release our vice grips on one another.
There were also parents who showed up to sit in the bleachers and visit with one another and occasionally commenting, “Oh! Aren’t they cute?”
None of us really had enough confidence to just go up to some one and introduce ourselves. We were all shy, not just the guys, and we had to play the games. Wasn’t it fun, though? Wonder if the games are any different now, or are there even any games like that now?
The guys that were just good friends were the best. Now, I often think of them fondly. I truly loved them. They were the shy ones … the gentlemen. We were friends, the ones I liked the best.
