Memorial Day and Morris

The "unofficial beginning" of summer...how I would wait and wait for Memorial Day Weekend to go "down the shore" even though there'd be a few day trips, maybe even a random weekend, between Labor Day and Memorial Day. Summers at the shore meant beach & boardwalk, a beautiful tan, hamburgers on Saturday night, salt-air stickiness, low tide scent permeating, enjoying my beloved grandparents, the quaintness of Ocean City, and a million other wonderful memories. I never remember such a strong longing for this particular Friday of the year as I had back in 1987 when I was in 8th grade...because now it meant something more!

Although Mark and I had known each other since we were toddlers, there were a few in between years when my grandparents moved rental locations from across the street from his family home to several blocks away and we didn't connect. This all changed on Night in Venice, 1986, the summer after 7th grade. Our family was invited to the Williams house to enjoy the annual party and I remember being sick-to-my-stomach nervous that I would be seeing "Mark Bernard" again...and there he was--blue shirt, shorts, braces, strawberry blond, shorter than me. We shyly glanced at each other for a few hours, then he became bold enough to snap my picture...By the end of the night, we had our first picture taken together since 1976 and made plans to see each other again, which we did a few times before Labor Day. We were both pretty smitten.

Throughout our 8th grade year, we wrote letters and made the occasional phone call. I was supposed to see him when our family came down for Easter but for some reason that never happened. So Memorial Day Weekend it was. I remember doing a countdown and every morning when I got on the bus and joined a group of girls from the neighborhood I'd declare, "45 more days!" "29 more days!" "2 weeks!"I'm quite sure that these girls couldn't wait for Memorial Day Weekend to get here and be over with so I'd stop all my antics...but they knew my excitement was rooted in seeing Mark again.

I don't remember how or when we made plans...but I do know that he was going to come over that Friday...I have no idea what I wore, what we did or where we went, but I do remember those butterflies in my tummy turned into raging bats as I waited for him to arrive, probably peaking out the front bedroom window to catch a glimpse before he rang the bell.

And finally, there he was! And when I opened the door and saw him standing there in his jeans and pink polo shirt, the braces were gone, he'd grown a few inches, and leaned out a bit...and I remembering thinking that it was going to be a great summer...and why was he holding a big stuffed camel???

Yes, Mark gave me a camel. I'm not sure why, other than he wanted to give me a gift, the family had been skiing earlier in the year at Camelback and I think one of his sisters suggested he buy it for me when they spotted it in the gift shop. I remember thinking it was weird at the time...but pretty soon "Morris" the camel became a favorite of mine. I declared him king over the stuffed animal family that took up 80% of my bed and he has held a place of prominence ever since (not that I keep stuffed animals on my bed--only 1and it's not Morris--Morris sits sentry over the guest bedroom). 

Even during the years when Mark and I drifted, 9 to be exact, and other boyfriends came and went, along with their gifts--both soft friends, jewelry, trinkets, etc.--I held on to Morris. Not only did he represent Mark Bernard, my first friend, first kiss, first date, etc. but he represented the shore, Ocean City, __ Walnut Road where my grandparents lived (he was the only stuffed animal I'd bring down on weekends, even into college!?)...I couldn't bear to part with him.

In my un-legal document that I keep entitled "In the Event of My Untimely Passing" which holds wishes and directions in case I die unexpectedly, I give directions for Morris. People sometimes ask, if there were an emergency, (fire, suddenly-have-to-leave situation) what would you grab? I've always said, "My purse, the cats, and Morris". He is 26 years old to me this weekend...Funny, as I'm recalling all of this I'm reliving the butterflies, the feelings of excited anticipation...and what a blessing that on the other side if the wall from where I sit is the object of those feelings(Mark, not Morris!)! Here, with me, for as long as we are on this side of life.

Except...it's funny how memory has a way of playing tricks on you...I went up into the attic to dig out my journal from 1987 just to see what I wrote about this particular weekend...Several references to the countdown, "I can't wait for this weekend", etc. I did mention him getting his braces off ("He's so cute!") and an account of our, um, "activity" of the weekend (pretty harmless for 8th grade),  and our first date to the movies, but what floored me was that when I opened the door he wasn't holding Morris...he was holding a huge Hershey Kiss and a bottle of Le Jardin de Max Factor (which still makes me feel 8th grade when I smell it) What1? So when did he give me Morris? Hmmm...I was so disappointed to read that because that's a memory I've replayed in my ind over and over...but does that really matter? I know it was him who gave it to me at some point that year, he still came bearing gifts (sweetie!), and he WAS incredibly cuter than the last time I'd seen him. Morris or no Morris on the Friday of Memorial Day Weekend, he still represents so much, especially an undying love for my first true love.