It was the summer between 8th & 9th grade. I was at the Jayhawk Plunge swimming pool with Vic Stoffer. We were playing a game we called “Frogman.” The game was simple, one of us would wander around the pool with a rock and deposit it on the pool floor without the other knowing where it had been dropped. The one who was “it” had to swim underwater like a frogman to discover the hidden “explosive mine.”

Having found said mine, I surfaced on the east side of the pool just in time to see a statuesque beauty casually strolling by. She was tall and tan and young and lovely with blond hair wearing a white bathing suit. She looked so sophisticated in her gait that I was sure she was much, much older than me (had to be at least sixteen). As she passed by my open-mouthed gawk, she gave me a glare that said, “What are you looking at?” She walked on by and sat on the edge of the pool some distance from me. I was brought back to Earth by Vic yelling for me to drop the rock someplace. I did but the frogman game wasn’t quite the same for me for the rest of that day.

Imagine my surprise when school started I discovered the “older woman” was none other than new classmate, Carol Olson. She and her family had moved to Lawrence from Wichita during the summer.

Carol and I never dated while in school. In fact, we had only one class together, an early hour accounting course our senior year.

I was playing in the band, The Rainmakers, at the time. Performances and practices often involved alcohol. Carol always knew when I was nursing a hangover while totaling columns of debits and credits. She would give me a knowing look and wag her finger as if to say, “Tsk, tsk.”

After graduation, Carol and I went our divergent ways to separate lives. Almost 40-years later, the angle of a night caused our paths to cross at a band performance. Carol was in town from Colorado to visit her family. Her brother pointed me out to her across the room and she came over. During our brief greeting and conversation, we exchanged email addresses. There ensued a flurry of messages and phone calls that became more passionate as time went on. We finally got together the week of our 40th class reunion and it was magic.

Carol and I are still together and hope to attend the 50th reunion. Time has changed our appearances as it does us all. Even so, unbeknownst to her, (mainly because I have learned to control my dropping jaw) Carol still gives me many, many “Girl From Ipanema” moments.

 

Scott