Technological Courtship

What in the world is happening? I can remember long ago, some fifty-five to sixty years ago-I discovered boys. All my young friends and I were deeply involved in getting the attention of the boys around us. We would splash on the Evening in Paris ( from the magical, stormy blue bottle.) We would flip our ponytails, flutter our eye lashes, smile our sweetest smiles, and try to have a charming conversation to entice the young men to spend time with us.
     Sadly, I guess this activity is vanishing. My husband and I observed a young couple come in Wendy's today. They were like typical young people from my youth except for one thing--they each had a cell phone. As they waited for their orders, each one had their head buried in their phone. We saw them get their food, eat, and never once look at each other,never smile sweetly, or never say one word to each other!
     We were amazed that their eyes never met to convey admiration, their hands never brushed to feel the tingle of butterflies, or any words spoken to touch the heart of the other. "So sad," I thought. They are missing the joyous feelings of courtship.
I wondered if they had ever played Spin-the-Bottle- my first realization of games that brought so much excitement and fun. Another little game I played a time or two when I was a young teenager, I approached a male classmate and held up a dime, "I'll bet you a dime that I can kiss you without ever touching you."
     "uh-h--O.K." he stammered.
     I tip-toed and place a smack on his cheek. Then I took his hand and placed the dime in it, "I lose!"   I giggled and ran away to join my young girl friends- leaving him with a startled, shell-shocked grin on his face.    (1959)
Oh, young friends, get rid of those phones! You don't know what fun you are missing.

Where is Winnie?

                                                                  Where is Winnie?


 
     There are people that cross our lives- that leave footprints that are never erased.  Footprints that are indelibly imprinted on our hearts.  We stop, occasionally, and renew the feeling that we hold in our memories.
     

     In the spring of 1994, I met Winfred Meyer at Arkansas State University in Jonesboro, Arkansas.  I was 49 years old and nearing the completion of a degree in Education.  Winnie was married to my sociology professor.  She was born in Zambia, Africa, and about 25-30 years old.  I was intrigued with Winnie.  I had never had a friend of color other than mine.  She was one of the sweetest ladies I ever met.  I loved hearing about her homeland and stories from her family.  She was kind and gentle.  We shared long talks that often included the differences in people.  She once remarked, "I don't see see color, I only see people."   ( How nice it would be, Winnie, if the whole world could make that statement.)
     Winnie spoke with a fascinating British accent.  We grew very close that semester.  We would have lunch together at Burger King, or she would take me to her home sometimes.  The first time at her home she make us hamburgers.  As I sat at the table talking, she gathered the ingredients.  She handed me the bowl with the raw meat,
"Would you rather make your own patty?" (As if I would not want her to handle my beef paddy.)
"No, Winnie I'm sure you can do it just fine." I answered as I refused to take it. 
I think our friendship was based on  personal needs.  I needed to find out about the world and meet people who could show me the way.  She needed someone to fill her need for family.  I'm sure I was about her own mother's age, and I believe she was lonely for home.  I was the person that appeared in her life to fill that need.  To make it even sweeter,  her mother's name was Rita. 
     Winnie was there for me at the hospital the day I was injured in P.E. class.  I was knocked down during a wild game of  "Catch the Goose" or something like that.  As the "geese" were trying to avoid being caught by the "catchers" by racing all over the gym floor--one exuberant  young man hit me full force face on.  I was on the floor surrounded by the class.  I couldn't see, and was hiding my face because I didn't know if I was bleeding.  Someone placed the pieces of my glasses in my hand.  They checked me for broken bones.  The professor wanted me to go to the hospital, but I was a commuter in someone else's car that day.   So we taped my glasses together and his assistant walked me to my next class.  
     When Dr. Meyer saw me and heard what happened, he told me to call Winnie  to meet us at the hospital.
She stayed with me until they finished all the x-rays and then took me back to campus.  I wasn't seriously injured (just my pride as I sported a huge black eye and wore taped up glasses for a week.)
     I enjoyed that semester with my special new friend, Winnie.  She left a few weeks later for an extended visit to family in Zambia.  Before leaving, she came to visit me here at White Oak. She met my family and learned about my home life here in the United States.  Living at my home  is different than living in the college town of Jonesboro.  She loved the location and farming scenery. 
     When she returned 3 months later, I was preparing to leave campus for my student teaching.  She gifted me with memorabilia from her country of Zambia--a popular style of dress at that time and wall plaques made of the country's most precious metal of copper.  They were molded into the designs of African Gods.  She often teased me with "You better be good or I'll turn my Gods on you."  That was the last time I saw Winnie.  I was told that she left Jonesboro because of family problems. I learned that she had divorced and went home.   I received two letters--February of 2000 and another in June of 2000.  She was living in England.  She had remarried, and there was a beautiful family picture in the lush English countryside.  
    Her last words to me were, "I've been here a long time-five years.  So much has happened, but all is well, and I am happy.
     I've never been able to establish contact again.  If I could, I would say,  "Winnie, It was such a wonderful experience knowing you.  I'm glad I had the opportunity to learn about your country and family.
     I believe you opened up a dialog between two people who appeared to be so different-- only to find how much we were alike.  Our hearts joined in friendship. 
- It did not matter if I was older.
- It did not matter that you were from the continent of Africa, nor that I was from North America.
- It was of no consequence, that our skins were of different hues.  Our skins were like the skins on an apple.  Some are red, green, pink, or yellow, but underneath we were the same- created by God.  What ultimately mattered was that we were of kindred spirits--with open hearts and loving natures.  Thank you, Winnie, for being part of my life.  I do sincerely hope we meet again.