Mincey’s Musings
Year Two, Week Twenty-Six

I was reading in a back issue of the Reader’s Digest about a man who was dating a woman. Although he had dated her for several months, a surprise was in store. He called her home and her son answered. When the man identified himself and asked to speak to the boy’s mother, the son asked if he was Tom number one or Tom number two. There was not in the future a need for anyone to ask.

I always hated the dating scene, mainly because it seemed like I was putting myself on some kind of market. Oh, such a threat of rejection! Just like an item on a store shelf, more women walked by and didn’t buy than those that did. Many times I hoped that the ones willing to check out the merchandise would just leave me on the shelf. Most females didn’t even look at the merchandise, and many that did were checking for fault.

One of the most embarrassing memories of my schooldays was in eighth grade. We had a new physical education teacher who insisted that we wear shorts. This was called “dressing out”, though to me it at the time was like getting half undressed. To make this humiliation even worse, the teacher took us outside. As we were walking toward the football field, the girls’ class was walking down the sidewalk in front of the school. One of the prettiest girls with which I had attended Maynardville Elementary School squealed and pointed me out to her friends, saying, “Look at Ronnie Mincey’s legs!”

The thought that this girl was praising my shapely, white limbs never occurred to me, perhaps because of the roars of laughter from the group of girls at my discomfiture. I just wanted to slither into a hole in the ground and never surface again.

Once Preacher Oliver Wolfenbarger was visiting my Aunt Fleetie, and he walked up to a full-length mirror that she had on the door that went into her dining room. Preacher Wolfenbarger saw his reflection in that mirror and started to shake hands with himself. Obviously the Preacher liked himself. I, on the other hand, will be the first to admit that I am a difficult person for many to relate to in many ways. My interests don’t seem to be held in common with many others, especially females. I never met myself in a mirror, though I once dreamed that I met myself and didn’t like me!!!!!!

I remember in particular one female I decided I wanted to date. She seemed perfect—she was Christian, well educated, well spoken, part of a nice family, not beautiful but attractive enough—the list of her charms could go on and on! I thought it worth my while to take the risk to ask her out. She accepted.

I don’t remember exactly where we went on our first date, but I do remember sending her flowers the next day and letting her know on the card that I had a good time. I did not sign the card. I called her that evening, and she asked me if I sent her flowers. I told her I did, and she told me next time to sign the card, that she was also dating others.
That was a blow to my ego, not because I thought I was that great, I just wasn’t raised to pull on both ends of a rope, or to consort with women who did. (In other words, I was never raised to “play the field” with more than one prospect at a time, and was led to believe that nice girls didn’t, either.) Usually that would have been a deterrent, but I decided she was worth giving additional consideration.

So I continued dating her. My greatest (and indeed only) success with the opposite sex has always been with those women who made the “first move” (interpreted, that means they showed the first interest). I probably wouldn’t have started dating my wife if she hadn’t asked me out first! As a matter of fact, she told me that if I was going to be seen with her I was going to have to lose some clothes (oh boy, here we went with the shorts again)!

But the particular female of my past of whom I speak not only didn’t make the first move, she didn’t make any moves at all! I saw no indication that she even wanted me to kiss her, and after about three weeks I dared to ask her if I could hold her hand. She said she didn’t think we should do that yet. I was beginning to even wonder why she wanted to go out with me if she wasn’t even interested in something as simple and innocent as hand holding.

This relationship got even more interesting when she called me during our fourth week of “dating” and asked me where this relationship was going. I thought, “Self, what is she wanting you to say?” If I’d had a clue I might have said it, but since I didn’t I answered truthfully, “I don’t know.” That was when I got the verbal “Dear John”, the statement that has almost become a cliché, “I think we should see other people.” I readily agreed, politely wishing her the best while silently wishing good luck, Godspeed and glad tidings to my successor.

I had many other dating disasters, many due in part to my own low self-esteem. I also had a few successes, but sometimes even success is not enough to overcome the pain of rejection. A thousand people can say kind things about a person, but it is the one who is unkind that sticks in the mind longest and is most painful. There are three quotes on pages 26-7 of the June 2019 edition of Reader’s Digest that have meaning for me. The first is from athlete Abby Wambach, “I’ve always been motivated more by negative comments than by positive ones . . .” Actress Jennifer Lawrence said, “All I need in a relationship is someone to watch TV with me.” Finally, publisher Donald Graham advised, “Listen to the critics, but listen most carefully to those who spoke up when the sun was shining.”

I am finding as I get older that I like myself, at least most of the time, whether anyone else does. It is one of the joys that come with maturity (at least in years), that plus the ability to laugh at the drama of the past. May you, faithful reader, find motivation from the negative, comfort with a significant other in front of the TV, those who tell you the truth when things are sunny, and may you the one who laughs loudest at yourself.