It was the summer of 1980, the year Mt. St. Helen’s blew.

February 14, 2025

It’s Valentine’s Day. Singles Awareness Day. In honor of my disdain for this day, I’m posting about one of the ones who got away.

It was the summer of 1980, the year Mt. St. Helen’s blew. I was between my junior and senior year of high school. I was attending community college to speed my graduation date.

My grandfather had a beef cattle farm, and every summer there was hay to mow, bale, and store in the barn for winter. Charlie, then in his mid-20s which seemed so old to me, was part of the hay crew that summer. He invited me to dinner with his entire family to meet his younger brother Rusty. It was the first time I’d ever had Chinese food.

Rusty was going to community college, I believe studying computer programming, but I don’t recall. I knew nothing about computers in 1980 at the age of 17. Rusty asked me out. I can’t remember where we went, what we did. I remember he was wearing a fisherman’s sweater and the arms were stretched too long and covered his hands. It’s funny the details you remember. So interesting what the mind keeps. I thought him rather unsophisticated for choosing such attire for our date.

I think we went out twice. Each time, at the end of the date, I anticipated a kiss. I didn’t get one. He fumbled and…