I look back on my younger days
Remembering the time
Most parents, in the south, believed
That rudeness was a crime.
 
Good manners were expected
And not only toward adults;
The boys who had good manners
When they “wooed,” had good results.
 
In our small town, in softer days,
Old fashioned rules applied;
Our parents didn’t hesitate
To chastise boys who tried
 
To break away from customs that
They thought ridiculous;
Not having manners meant, of course,
That they thought less of us.
 
I cringe and raise my eyes above
At males I dated, who
Had the strangest ideas of
The proper way to “woo.”
 
I don’t know why I seemed to get
Gifts not meant for a femme—
The worst thing that a guy gave me
Should have gone back to him!
 
A baby gator in a box
With holes so it could breathe;
An alligator for a gift?
All I could do was seethe.
 
I bought fish food with real dead flies
And gave him water, too
He wouldn’t eat; I didn’t know
What else that I should do.
 
Instructions said, pry open mouth,
Push food in with eraser.
I simply couldn’t hold its head,
And help the little ‘gator.
 
And though it’s not a big surprise
The little guy expired.
And, as a reptile owner, I
Most gratefully retired.
 
As woo-gifts go, that was the worst;
And though t’was sent in fun,
In truth, I never did take to
The little scaly one.
 
There was one boy who made me think
No pretense in this lad—
His gift, a fish, (and did it stink!)
An “earthy Galahad.”
 
He brought it, and he grinned at me;
I knew he knew full well,
I’d take it, most politely, though
I’m sure that my face fell.
 
I hope you don’t misunderstand,
It’s just that he had said
He had a super gift meant for
“My pretty little head.”
 
Naturally, my brilliant brain
Thought, earrings! for my ears!
And THAT’S why, when I saw the fish
I was this close to tears.
 
Never in my wildest dreams
Would I have ever thought
He meant the gift was for my mouth…
A joke… the fish he brought.
 
One time, a guy with new sportscar
Arrived in my driveway
And blew the horn, for pity sake;
Dad said, “No way, José.”
 
In those days it was understood
Car horns, boys did not toot;
No sir, they came to fetch their date,
So, Dad gave him the boot.
 
Some others thought themselves a catch
And thus had every right
To call, last minute, because “natch”
Their call would make my night.
 
A boy, in college, thought he was
God’s gift to womanhood,
And when he asked me to go out
He just assumed I would.
 
His reputation was about
The “scores” he surely earned—
He thought he’d make a pass without
The fear of being spurned.
 
Because he was BMOC
I did go on the date;
It could have meant he liked me—
It was possible I’d rate
 
A “get-to-know-you” kind of date…
A natural thing to do;
I should have known that wouldn’t fly
With Mr. You Know Who.
 
No movie did he take me to,
Hamburgers, he rejected;
I made him take me straight back when
He said what he expected.
 
Word spread fast ’round campus that
His tactics didn’t work
His evening’s plan had fallen flat—
He truly was a jerk!
 
Another date, from VMI–
Tom Dooley was his name;
The Kingston Trio sang a song
About a guy named…same.
 
“Hang down your head, Tom Dooley,
Hang down your head and cry;
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley,
Poor boy, you’re going to die.”
 
Don’t know if you remember it,
But the Dooley that I knew,
Became so wrapped up in that song,
He hadn’t time to “woo.”
 
And that was quite all right with me,
Conceit was not attractive;
And so I checked Tom Dooley off,
His status was inactive.
 
But, writing this, I smiled and thought
If I could have one wish
I’d go back and relive the time when
Rob brought me the fish.
 
And being wiser in the ways
Of how the male mind works,
I’d laugh because I truly love
A funny guy with quirks.
 
And he’d say, “Kate, this perfect fish—
I caught for perfect you;”
And I would hug his neck, and say,
"That was an awesome woo!”