Writer’s Block
Remembering the giddy highs—and devastating lows of that first childhood crush
School was out for the day; a foggy Friday. I walked home slowly, basking in the praise of my Grade 5 teacher, “You have lovely penmanship, dear.”
I’d forgotten for a moment that Ginny was walking with me.
“Well,” she nudged, “ask your mother if you can go with me to the Salvation Army Kids’ Club. Remember I told you they have it every Friday.”
“I dunno,” I answered.
“They have a new lieutenant,” she continued. Arriving home, we entered the front hall where my little sister, Ruby, was playing. “Move,” I said.
I could hear our mother singing “Heavenly Sunshine” in the kitchen. She sang often, and I didn’t realize until much later that she was singing herself into happiness.
“Certainly you may go,” she said. “Wash your hands and have an apple.”
My sister asked, “Can I come, too?” “Nope,” I said, “you’re too young.” But she wasn’t. Kids from seven to 12 were included.
Ginny and I walked the couple of blocks to the Salvation Army Citadel. As we made our way up the steps, Ginny explained, “The new lieutenant’s name is Mr. Hayes; he’s in charge.” We entered a room with ten chairs placed in a semi-circle. A few children were already seated. I spied a piano in one corner and a flannel board at the front. I wasn’t shy, not since Mrs. White was trying to teach me piano. She said I was more outgoing than my sister. Nevertheless wherever I went I liked to, as it were, case the joint.
Then I saw him. Him—the new lieutenant. Around 19, he had dark wavy hair, almost black. It was combed back from his forehead unlike my father’s, which was parted on the side. Mr. Hayes wore a white shirt and dress pants. He was tall and sturdily built. His blue eyes lit up when he looked at you. When I looked at him, my eyes lit up as well. I was smitten.
My knowledge of the Salvation Army was limited. In our city a group of them would gather with their musical instruments and sing and talk in King’s Square uptown and often on a street corner. They wore uniforms and when I noticed the heavy dark bonnets the women wore, I felt sorry for them. I thought the double S on their jacket lapels signified “suering in silence.” In our neighbourhood, we children, when skipping would sometimes chant:
Salvation Army save my soul
Take me to heaven in a sugar bowl
If a sugar bowl don’t go that far
Take me to Heaven in a King St. car
If a King St. car don’t have no brakes
We’ll zoom right through those pearly gates.
If my mother had heard this little ditty, we would have been reprimanded. She liked people from all religions and denominations. She loved the entire Salvation Army even if she didn’t know any of them.
Mr. Hayes told us a story from the Bible and then asked questions. My hand went up before anyone else’s and I gave all the right answers. He smiled at me and I kept that image in my mind. On the way home, Ginny asked, “Did you like Lieutenant Hayes?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” My answer seemed
nonchalant, LIKE him! I was in love. His first name was Allison. I hadn’t known a girl, let alone a boy with the name Allison.
“Did you have a good time?” my mother inquired.
“Yeah,” I said and surprised us both by setting the table without being asked. That night, I whispered, “Allison...allison,” into my pillow.
The next week dragged on until Friday. “Let’s go early,” I suggested to Ginny. “We’ll get the best seats.” Beforehand, I had drenched myself with my mother’s perfume, hoping Mr. Hayes would notice. I positioned my chair close to his. We had a Bible quiz, which I won, and then we sang the marching song:
I’m in the Lord’s army, Yes sir, (salute)
I’m in the Lord’s army, Yes sir, (salute) I may never march in the infantry, ride in the cavalry, shoot the artillery, I may never zoom o’er the enemy, but I’m in the Lord’s army.
Allison was in my thoughts constantly. I half decided to join the Salvation Army as I planned my future, but the thought of wearing those heavy bonnets gave me pause.
From time to time, I attempted to show Mr. Hayes how much I liked him. I would kick his chair. Once or twice, I burped audibly—i thought it was a “guy” thing. When he said anything slightly humorous, I would laugh loudly. I oered to play “My Grandfather’s Clock” on the piano. He didn’t invite me to do so, yet I ran over and banged out a couple of stanzas. Nobody clapped. He quietly waited until I was finished. He then proceeded with a sword drill.
The next Friday I, as usual, hollered out an answer. “Let’s give someone else an opportunity, Donna,” he suggested in a mild tone.
At that, my commitment to the Army began to dwindle. What followed is foggy. I remember that he ended the group early that day.
We were all outside standing on the steps. I was looking up at him and suddenly without premeditation I threw my half-eaten orange at him. I watched in fascination as a trickle of juice made its way down the front of his white shirt. Hot shame filled me as I turned and ran towards home but soon my steps lagged. I knew I was in trouble now.
Trouble had visited me the week before. Without my mother’s permission I had borrowed a new pair of her nylon stockings and worn them to school with my favourite plaid skirt. When I arrived home, I was shocked to see so many wrinkles in the nylons. I took them to the laundry room, where the ironing board was set up, and tried to iron them. This adventure did not end well.
When I arrived home, my father was sitting in the dining room. He cleared his throat. “Heard you got into trouble today.”
“Yes,” I replied, waiting to know my punishment. “Well,” he said, “I never did like the Salvation Army; always asking for money.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, although they had never asked me for any. As I grew older, however, I made sure to contribute to their Christmas kettles.
Years later I met Marg, who had grown up as a member of the Salvation Army. We became good friends and she never asked me for money, either. She also wore many hats, but not one of them was a helmet-like bonnet.
As I matured, the shame I felt when I thought of Lieutenant Hayes was replaced by remembering his kindness, patience and willingness to put up with the likes of me! Two weeks later, after I left the Salvation Army, I fell in love with a boy who was also 10. We held hands only once because his hands were always grimy from playing ball.
Another conversion nearly took place a few years later, when under the eaves of Trinity Anglican Church, I experienced my first kiss. I guess that’s when I considered becoming an “Ekiscopalian,” but that’s another story.