Writing about the dances and boys, I thought it would be fun to publish the rules I had for dating.
My mother told me I couldn't date until I was in ninth grade. The summer before I entered ninth grade, I informed Mom of that promise, "I get to date this year!"
She dryly remarked, "And so many boys are calling."
According to Mom, she had a lot of boyfriends through her years. Giving candy to her. A mother driving them to freshman dance. Even at high school reunions in her later years, the men flocked to her. But she still didn't date after Dad, ever. Even when she became a widow. I guess when you have the best, you can't settle for anything less.
A common rule when I was fifteen: date someone near to my age. As some of the girls in my class went to prom with seniors when we were in eighth grade, this became a timely rule. The next year the high school raised the age to sophomores allowed to go to prom.
Dad didn't really make this a hard and fast rule, but he did discourage dating Roman Catholics. He suggested that if a way of worshiping God is important to me, which it was, this would only cause trouble later down the road. He made this remark while I was waiting for my date to be finish with church on a Saturday evening.
Lafayette, my gray miniature toy poodle, leaned the toughest on his rules for the kind of boys I dated.
1) They couldn't smoke. 2) Have long hair. 3) Wear boots. I trusted his reactions to the boys that came for me at the house. He did like David, although, he broke rules 2 and 3. He judged character. If a man can't be kind to a lesser creature, he is not worth dating.
My Siamese cat, Dusty, liked David, too. I guess I listened most to my animals after my heart when choosing my husband. I think after thirty years, they proved to be wise advisers.