Breaking Up Is Hard to Do

We're coming up on Valentine's Day this week, kids. Love abounds! Except when it doesn't. And you know who you are. And believe me - though I am crazy-insane in love with my wife for decades now, there was a time when I treaded the ground of "Having to Figure Love Out." And that inevitably included break-ups. And man, I hated those.

I used to work with a girl named Tobie.* Tobie had lived in Las Vegas for a number of years, but originally heralds from Planet Drama, where she is considered royalty. (*Names have been changed. Kind of. She spells it without the “e.”) Each morning when I walked into the office, I couldn't wait to see what the Crisis De Jour would be. The dramatic episodes ranged from “Last night I talked to my mom for the first time in three years!” to “I lost 1.5 pounds!” And most memorably, when she broke up with her boyfriend of eight months. Or more accurately, he broke up with her. And what, I ask you, could be more dramatic than that?! (Well, if you’re Tobie, then just about anything.)

So I’m listening to her heartbreaking story, line upon line and precept by precept, when I suddenly begin having flashbacks to my own breakups. I start getting knots in my stomach, I get a little moist under the arms, and I find myself looking for the opportunity to assure Tobie that her and I can still be friends, even though we aren’t the ones breaking up. It’s just instinct.

For me, breakups were the absolute worst. I avoided them like they were cancer. Oh, how they pained me to the core of my dating soul. It’s still hard to talk about some of them…

Tess Dresher. Fourth Grade. I can still recall the day she walked up to me during recess and asked me to “go with her.” “Sure,” I answered. And those were the last words every exchanged between Tess and myself. We occasionally sat by each other, and I gave her a very special Peanuts Valentine’s Day card, but we never did speak, or even make eye contact. So I guess technically we are still “going together.” Boy is she going to be mad when she finds out I got married and had eight children. She’ll want to break up for sure. I’m not looking forward to that conversation.

Julia Zimmerman. High School. It was the summer of 1987, and I was sixteen years old – with a license to drive and to date! I knew Julia really liked me when her mom had grounded her and she promptly ignored said house arrest to go to the movies with me. Yes, we were young and crazy in love! I was pretty sure that after the summer of 1987 I could die happy. By fall of 1987 I was so miserable I was praying for death. We went to different high schools and Julia was first to acknowledge that our long distance relationship wasn’t really going to make it. I nodded my head in agreement, but inside I felt like somebody was cramming my heart through a paper shredder.

College break-ups were the toughest, obviously. You've all been there. Sometimes it's almost cliche. But there was genuine pain, due to genuine feelings and possibilities. It might be too soon. I don't think I can talk about it. Her name was Danielle. It was Halloween night. We had gone to a party and we were sitting in my car in the parking lot of her apartment complex. I was dressed as Aladdin, she was Jasmine. Things had been in the pooper for quite some time, and it felt like a stranger walking by could glance in our direction and know exactly what was happening. It was silent for a few minutes, and then I spoke up. Tell me if you've had this exact conversation before:

“I think we should see other people.”

"Define our relationship,” she said.

“What?”

“Define our relationship!”

“Uhm…we should…see other people…but we can still be -”

“Are you giving me the Friend Speech? Don’t you DARE give me the Friend Speech!”

“Uh…NO…never, never. I think it’s just me.”

“OH, NO – the ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ bit?”

“Noooo! That’s not what I mean at all...”

An eternal silence. Like…three days have passed while we’ve sat in the car. And finally she speaks.

“Well, what do you want me to do?”

“I…don’t understand the question.”

“I can’t do this!” she yelled, and bailed out of the car.

Joy to the world.

It was truly painful. Of course, not as painful as Tobie’s overly dramatic reaction to the hair she found in her salad at lunch one day. “I almost ate this and diiiiiiieeeeedddddd!”

Yes, WE Will Go with You to the Dance

Youguys, youguys, youguys! Ohmygosh, youguys!

So, let's just say (totally hypothetically) that your 16 year old daughter - we'll call her Abbie - was creatively asked to her first school dance on Saturday night! And, just for funsies, let's also pretend that you belong to a fantastic book club (which is closed) and it's your turn to host, so your home is filled with 10 amazing people who think your daughter is pretty neat-o, and they can BARELY contain their excitement that they have a front row seat to the actual moment she is asked!!!!

You know what? Let's get even more detailed. 

Let's imagine that it kind of happens like, oh, I don't know, like this: (names have not been changed)

You're all sitting in the front room, discussing books and life and food. (Not in that order.) 

The doorbell rings. 

Kacy: (Who has an uncanny ability to sense things, we'll call her the Doorbell Whisperer.) Abbie's getting asked to a dance! I just saw somebody run away from the door!

Everyone: AAAAAHHHH!

Katie: I'll get Abbie! (Abbie was downstairs, watching a movie with her siblings.)

Everyone else jumps into place. By this, I mean Chris stations himself at the piano and starts playing the appropriate mood music - a kind of dramatic pomp and circumstance riff. The rest of us make a line from the stair banister to the front door, so Abbie gets to/has to walk by all of us on her way to the door. Except my friend, Josh, the only one with sensibilities telling him that this might be embarrassing for Abbie. He hides in the kitchen. 

The room has EXPLODED with emotion! I mean, the thrill, the anxiety, the nervousness, the giddiness - it's all in pieces on the floor and walls and us! Patrick does the sensible thing and films the entire moment.

Once Abbie opens the door and reads the note out loud, we are all abuzz again; planning a proper creative response to this young man, who has no idea what he has started by simply dropping off a plate of toast and a note on this fateful night.  

Within minutes, and even after Abbie has retreated to the safety of the basement, we have already made our own plans for how Abbie should creatively respond to this invitation, what she should wear, what our coordinated outfits should look like for when he picks her up for the dance and we all go to the dance WITH Abbie and her date, and a highly choreographed flash mob. (Admittedly, we aren't sure exactly when the flash mob will be needed - but we're leaning towards the moment he rings the doorbell. Cue the Doorbell Whisperer.) (We are about 68% kidding on all of these things.)

So, I am just wondering…is your 16-year-old self totally cringing while you read this? Would you be mortified or handle it with grace and a smile like Abbie? Would you hate your parents and their friends? And again, this is absolutely hypothetical, I'm asking for a friend. 

My high school journal part 2

In my 11th grade English class in 1988, we were required to keep a journal. Sometimes we had assigned topics. Other times it was open. Here, for your reading pleasure, are some of those journal entries with grammar, spelling, and stupidity left alone. Kevin Arnold, from the Wonder Years, I was not. Check out the first installment here.

3-9-88 The person I would most like to meet

"I don't really know who I'd like to meet. I have a lot of famous people that I wouldn't mind meeting but if I could meet anyone it would be Christ. He seems like a great guy to get to know. He was so knowledgable and good. I need a good influence in my life like him. He loved everyone and was the most perfect human to my belief, Yes, that's who I would like to meet in person."

3-17-88 Irritants

"The kinds of people that irritate me the most are fake people. The kind of people who just go around saying "Hi", like drones. They just need their reputations thats all. Anything to keep them popular. I also hate the groupies. They stay in their little groups all day like fish. They won't waste their time to meet people. But, hey! If you just happen to start pulling in money they start kissing up to you. They want you to be a groupie. That's what I hate, fakes and groupies. The two go together except the fakes say "Hi" to other people instead of just never acknowledging the unknowns like the groupies."

3-23-88 Re-design

"If I could re-design myself I'd make myself 2 inches higher, 30 lbs heavier [Author's note: I was maybe 140 lbs here] and I wouldn't get pimples. Well, maybe 3 a month. I'd make myself quicker, faster, and more coordinated. I'd have a more forward personality to people I didn't know and my brain would be able to get its priorities in order. My relationship capacity would be longer ... I would like to be nicer, hadsomer and have a good personality."

3-31-88 Open topic

"It's an open topic huh. Well I'll be so open I won't know what to say. Wow it worked! I don't know at all what to say. Luckily I only have a few seconds left. ... So, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1."

5-27-88 Last full Friday

"The last full-day Friday of the year. I'm worried about failing my History, Drafting, and Accounting class. [Author's note: I am 99% sure I failed that accounting class.] I hope that I will pull through. Mr. Downs won't fail me though. Will ya Mr. D."

There you go. The mind of 16 year-old Brett. Remember, Like us on Facebook and leave a comment there or ideas for future posts or topics. Have a great weekend.

Here's proof I was an idiot in high school

I'm 42. I was 16 once. When I was 16, I thought I was pretty cool. In fact, for much of my life I thought that I had things pretty well figured out. It's just been the last 10 years or so that I realize I don't. We're all just doing the best with what we've got, right? But I digress. My point is I was a stupid teenager.

In my 11th grade English class in 1988, we were required to keep a journal. Here, to prove my point and for your reading pleasure, are some of those journal entries with grammar, spelling, and stupidity left alone. Some have been shortened for time:

1-25-88 Why America is Awesome

"America is a great place to live because of our rights. A lot of countries don't have rights or freedoms. We basically get to do what we want when we want. I enjoy not having an army always patrol the streets. I like going places without the government knowing my next move. [Author's note: Hahahahahahahahaha! Good one.] I like living where I want, talking with who I want and saying what I want. America is the best place I could live."

1-27-88 The DQ Incident

"Last night was not my night. At work everything was fine until I had to empty the fridge. I was taking the unfrozen ice cream mixture out and the top crate came off. The whole bag of total liquid ice cream splashed all over the floor. It took me at least a half an hour to clean it all up. Then I emptied the fryer. But instead of only opening one valve I opened one to many and both the fryers emptied. We had not hot grease. I then had to put the grease back in so we would have hot grease. It hurt. Then I spilled chocolate all over my shirt and pants. I got out of there at 12:15 am."

1-29-88 Smoking

"Smoking really sucks. Not that I do, but I have friends and friends parents that do. I'll admit I've tried it. I'll also say it sucked. The smell that gets on you and clings there. ... The kid in front of me has a pregnant cat. I don't see how anyone could enjoy killing themselves slowly by smoking. There is a dance tonight." [Author's note: I smoked on and off from 2000-2005. I should have remembered it sucked.]

2-4-88 When I'm 75

"The kind of life I want at 75 is an active one. Of course I don't think the world will last that long but I'll pretend. I'd like to still be living an enjoyable, active life. I want to be vacationing, retiring from the business world. On a cruise one week, Italy the next. ... That is all I'd like to be doing. Relaxing away, soaking up some rays, etc. There is nothing more that would be best to be a 75, besides being 50 or 30 or 20."

2-26-88 Decisions, Desisions

"I think I should be allowed to make the decisions of when I go somewhere and when I'll be home. I usually do. I know I'm not going to be out partying so, I must be doing something constructive. My mom trusts me. I like that. Another desision I should be able to make is if wheter I want to work or not. If I don't want money that's my choice. My mom still wants me to be a slave to DQ forever."

I could go on. In fact, maybe throughout this year I'll post more of my high school naivety. It's sort of fun to remember these moments. I'm thankful I'm less stupid today. Just a little.

Bless Yer Beautiful Hide

Tonight I am heading up Provo Canyon to go see 7 Brides for 7 Brother, directed by PTA's own Topher. I can't wait. Firstly, because Chris is a masterful director and I have never seen one of his shows that I didn't love. And secondly, because when I was a young lad of 17, I played the Adam Pontipee in Provo High Schools production of the same show (perhaps you remember it?)

Adam, if you are not versed in 7 Brides lore, is the oldest brother: the one who initially kidnaps an unwilling bride, thus causing his ill-bred brothers to do the same, bringing about a reign of terror as the women sing about being rescued and the men sing about how "they acted angry and annoyed, but secretly they was over-joyed." It's cute, right? Being in the show was a fantastic experience and full of countless great memories and I am sure tonight's production will remind me of how great it was to be young and confident with a full head of hair, and how much more talented these actors are than I ever was.

One memory in particular stands out from that production. The lead female role in our high school production was double cast. Two very talented girls alternated nights playing Millie. During rehearsals we would simply do each scene or song twice and the Millies would swap out so that they each got the practice time that they needed. As we neared opening nights and were doing full run throughs of the play, one Millie would do one show and the other Millie would do the next night, just like it would be in performances.

There is a moment at the end of the play where Adam decides he does love Millie and he doesn't mind her trying to domesticate him and goes back to profess his undying love. After they sing about how love never goes away, they embrace and kiss. After one run through, the director gave me and the actress playing Millie the note that she wanted the final kiss to be bigger: deeper, full of passion. After all, these are two people who, although their relationship started with kidnapping, have realized that they are soul mates and need to be together. Millie #1 and I took the note and vowed that at our next run through the kiss would be MUCH bigger.

The next night we were doing the run through with Millie #2. It was one of our final dress rehearsals and we were using, for the first time, body microphones. We had never had these in my whole, illustrious high school career and I really felt like we had hit the big time. Millie #2's parents were there that night to watch and the entire cast and crew was watching from the auditorium when they weren't needed on stage.

The moment arrived for the dramatic reunion for Millie and Adam. We sang our love duet and went in for our passionate kiss. Millie #2 did the typical short smooch that we had been doing up to that point. I panicked. She hadn't been at the previous nights rehearsal and hadn't heard the note about making this kiss BIGGER and more LOADED WITH MEANING! So I pulled her in tighter, locked my lips onto hers and mumbled, so that only she could hear "Kiss me harder!!"...which my microphone easily picked up and broadcast around the auditorium at full volume. Millie #2 was mortified and ran off stage. I was terribly embarrassed and thought her Dad might make his way up on stage to teach me a thing or two about "blessing yer beautiful hide." And the rest of the audience, full of high school kids was whooping and hollering as only high school kids who witness public humiliation can.

Millie #2, it turned out, forgave me. She was only slightly scarred. Her parents, to my knowledge, didn't hold a grudge. And I finally had a story to tell when someone asks you what your "most embarrassing moment" was.

So tonight, as I lounge beneath the stars in lovely Provo Canyon, I'm sure I'll hear some beautiful songs about lonesome polecats and June brides. There will no doubt be some high-stepping choreography with axe jumps and barrel rolls. But what I'll really be waiting for that final kiss between Adam and Millie. It's supposed to be a big one.