I was madly in love with Robert as was half of my fourth-grade class.  He was tall, had a nice smile, and a hint of a dimple.  Plus, he didn’t look like a rock’em sock’em robot when dancing. 

None of us particularly liked the square dancing, but the boys especially seemed to hate it.  Their movements clunky and stilted and out of time.  Not so Robert.  He glided, he turned,  he dosidoed and bowed with a flourish. 

All the little girl hearts went pitter-pat when it was our turn to dance with him.  My hands were always sweaty.  I was near sick for love of him.  He wasn’t in my class.  The only time I saw him was recess, lunch, and music class which had now morphed into dancing.   I actually got to touch him – his hands and back warm and sweaty from exertion, I supposed.  I fair swooned with giddiness.

But the girls could get possessive of their Robert.  I was once elbowed out of the way so that Kelly Ann could dance with Robert.  I glared at her and tried to figure out what to do, but the teacher came over and sorted us out.  Kelly still got to dance with Robert though.  I was incensed.  It seemed to me there was a bit of sadness in his eyes at the loss of his turn dancing with me.  Dare I hope?

At Christmas time, we morphed into a musical dance act of the Twelve Days of Christmas, Hawaiian Style.  I can’t remember if it was the five golden or the eight lords a leaping, but it was redone as fill-in -the-blank cans of Primo in which Robert would pretend to take a swig and then stagger around a bit while wearing a straw hat, Hawaiian shirt, barefoot and holding a can of Primo beer – Hawaii’s own. We thought he was hysterical. 

More swooning.  He was a born actor. 

We were all military kids, referred to as brats in the military jargon, and apt to get transferred at any moment.  I don’t remember if Robert left first or I did.  But time dancing with Robert came to an end.  I thought of him often.  Wondered where he went. 

And then.  Three schools, three states, and a Pacific Ocean crossing later, he showed up in my 7th-grade homeroom.  I shyly waved hello to him.  He seemed relieved to know someone. 

Robert had changed.  He had those puberty boy legs that were too long for his body and made him look ridiculous when he tried to walk fast.  He was sporting a bad case of acne. Really bad.  And his voice was changing.  He was a mess.  And no one, not even me, was in love with him.  But he became my friend in homeroom.  Protected me from the pranks of the other boys.  And was the first to tell me I had bled through my dress and that he was going to walk right behind me to the girls’ bathroom.  Seems Robert had sisters.  Nothing fazed him. 

Robert, I’m certain, grew from a caring boy to a gentleman. I’m sure he outgrew the acne. I’m sure he is tall. And I’m sure that he cares for and protects the person that is his partner. Robert was a class act in 4th grade and again in 7th grade. I have no doubt that he’s a class act now. I had good taste in men even in the way-back, but I’ve outdone myself with The Consort. He’s a peach.