High School Sweethearts

High School Sweethearts

They say memory is an art, a blend of what we know and what we feel. Some details are as clear as yesterday; others soften with time. For us, the story began in February 1985, during our high school days in Canton, Texas. It was a chance encounter—or a series of them—that led to a connection we never expected.

The Monday after Valentine’s Day, February 18, I went to tryouts for the UIL one-act play, The Importance of Being Earnest. Two of my best friends convinced me to leave my comfort zone. We’d always embraced our “Band Geek” status, but this was our junior year, and we wanted to try something new.

Doug, a senior, had also been persuaded to try out. He’d just moved back to Canton, the latest stop in a lifetime of moves as a “Navy brat.” Tall, tan, with blonde hair and blue eyes, he had a surfer-like charm and a laid-back lingo that stood out in Canton. He was funny, easygoing, and seemed to connect with everyone.

Once the cast list went up, things started to change. Doug's role as Lane, a butler, and Merriman, the maid, gave us plenty of time together, exchanging Wilde’s witty lines and shared smiles. Moments like Doug’s deadpan delivery—“I didn’t think it polite to listen, sir”—and my knowing quip, “One could say surprises are the fashion here,” created little inside jokes that built a quiet camaraderie between us, a bond that would last a lifetime.

Friday, February 22, felt like fate. I walked into Bennett’s Hamburgers to pick up food for my brother and his friends, and there was Doug, perched on a barstool at the 1942 arcade game. It felt like the universe had lined everything up for this moment.

I walked over, intending to tap him on the shoulder, but Doug later insisted I “goosed” him. Startled, he spun around with his fist half-raised, ready to scold his friend Leslie, who’d been poking him all night with a pool cue. Instead, he saw me standing there, grinning in my Duran Duran-inspired fedora.

“Oh, hi,” he stammered, lowering his fist.

"Later, he confessed how mortified he was, convinced he looked like he was about to strike me. The memory of him standing there, fist half-raised, his cheeks flushing a deep red, only solidified how genuine and sweet Doug truly is."

We laughed about the near mishap and decided to play pool while I waited for my food. Just as we started, "Panama" by Van Halen blasted from the speakers. Doug’s eyes lit up as he nodded along to the beat with his usual excitement. When "Save a Prayer" by Duran Duran came on, I couldn’t help but quietly sing along. Doug caught my eye, grinning, but he didn’t tease—he let me enjoy the moment, adding to the comfort I felt around him.

When my food was ready, Leslie turned to Doug and asked if he wanted to stay. Doug, however, shook his head and said he’d rather join me. I invited him to come over and watch MTV at my house, and he eagerly agreed, jumping into my car while Leslie followed behind in his truck.

Doug met my brother and his friends at my house as we gathered in the kitchen. While they dug into the food, Doug and I perched at the bar with chips and dip. We talked about music, movies, and little things, slowly relaxing into each other’s company. Once the others wandered off to the back room to play pool, Doug and I found ourselves alone in the quiet living room.

We sat on the couch with MTV playing softly in the background. For the first time, our conversation turned deeper. Doug opened up about being a “Navy brat,” constantly moving and learning to let go of friendships quickly.

“It’s easier that way,” he admitted, though his voice betrayed the sadness behind the words.

I shared my own challenges—losing my dad and stepping in to care for my younger brother.

“You’re different,” he said softly. “I feel like I can talk to you in a way I can’t with anyone else.”

The hours flew by, and before we knew it, we had drifted off to sleep on the couch. Around 2 a.m., my brother startled us awake, whose noisy arrival broke the quiet. Doug quickly glanced at the clock, panicking when he realized how late it was. I offered to drive him home, but when I admitted I didn’t know the way, he suggested he drive.

Doug carefully navigated us to his grandparents’ house, and as we pulled into the driveway, I felt a pang of guilt for keeping him out so late. After switching seats, I started to back out—but the car slid into the muddy ditch at the driveway's edge. My heart sank as I realized I’d have to knock on the door and explain what had happened.

Embarrassed and near tears, I hesitated as I stood at the door. I could hear his grandparents talking, clearly upset about how late Doug had come in. Finally, I tapped lightly, unsure of what to expect.

Doug opened the door quickly, his concern immediate. His grandparents appeared moments later, their expressions softening when they saw me. His grandmother gently led me into their cozy living room, offering me a seat and reassuring me everything would be fine.

The next morning, she invited me to stay for breakfast. Sitting at their table, I felt a warmth and kindness that I hadn’t realized I needed. Their generosity steadied me, and I felt a sense of belonging I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Later, Doug would tell me, “You looked white as a ghost, almost in tears,” laughing as he teased me about how nervous I’d been. He always retold the story with fondness, playfully exaggerating my reaction while making me feel like it was one of his favorite memories.

Eventually, a neighbor arrived with his tractor to pull my car free. Before I left, Doug gave me a warm, careful hug. As we pulled apart, I leaned in and planted a quick henpecked kiss on his cheek, a gesture that would mark the beginning of our romantic journey.

“Well, I guess that’s a thank you, then,” he said, his cheeks pink. Later, he’d retell the story with mock indignation, calling it “the sneakiest kiss ever” and teasing me for ambushing him.

When I finally made it home, I collapsed into bed, drained from the whirlwind of emotions and events. That Saturday afternoon, my best friend Christy called me.

“So, you hussy,” she teased, laughing before I could even say hello. “Spending the night with him on the first date?”

Her voice was full of playful disbelief, and I couldn’t help but laugh along as I recounted every detail—the car stuck in the mud, Doug taking the wheel, and his grandparents’ incredible kindness.

Later that afternoon, the phone rang. Back in the ’80s, answering was always a surprise—no caller ID to warn you who was on the other end. I picked up, expecting my mom, but instead, I heard Doug’s warm, familiar voice. My heart skipped a beat.

“Hey,” he said, “just wanted to make sure you made it home okay.”

The sound of his voice brought the night before rushing back. We laughed about the muddy ditch and shared a few quick words, but even after we hung up, the feeling lingered—something special was beginning.

We ended up talking for what felt like hours, reminiscing about the night before. That Sunday afternoon, he called me again, and our connection deepened. By Monday, I couldn’t wait to see him.

When I walked into school Monday morning, Dara, our mutual friend, stopped me in the hallway.

“Hey,” she asked casually, “are you seeing anyone?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “No,” I replied, confused but not suspicious. I had no idea she was asking on Doug’s behalf.

Later that day, during play practice, Doug walked over, his grin a little sheepish but full of charm.

“So…I asked Dara to ask you if you were seeing anyone,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I really like you, and I wanted to know.”

I felt my face flush, but I couldn’t stop smiling. “Oh, really?” I teased, though my heart was racing. “Well, the answer’s no.”

Doug relaxed, his grin widening. “Good. Because I was kind of hoping you’d go out with me.”

“Yes,” I said, maybe a little too quickly, but I didn’t care. Doug didn’t seem to mind, and for the rest of the day, we kept stealing glances and exchanging quiet smiles.

Over the next few weeks, Doug and I spent more and more time together. We went to the skating rink one night for one of our first dates. The evening was filled with laughter and music as we skated together, sometimes awkwardly, sometimes gracefully, but always with smiles that wouldn’t fade.

I always thought that was where we shared our first real kiss—under the dim, colorful lights of the rink as the music hummed in the background. To me, it felt like something out of a storybook.

Doug, however, insists it happened in the car afterward. “We were sitting there, talking, and I leaned in, and it just happened,” he says confidently.

Honestly, it doesn’t matter where it happened. All I know is that when Doug kissed me, I didn’t want to stop. It was soft and sweet, yet it made my heart race. That moment felt like everything else in the world faded away, leaving only us. I never wanted to stop kissing him.

As we kissed, he pulled back slightly and looked into my eyes, his voice low but steady. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

I smiled, feeling my heart skip a beat, and nodded. “Of course,” I whispered, leaning back into him. That night, kissing Doug, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

Later, when we talked about it, Doug teased me. “You looked so nervous,” he said, grinning. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to run away or not.”

“I wasn’t nervous—I just didn’t know what took you so long!” I shot back, laughing.

And he laughed too, leaning in for another kiss as if he didn’t want to stop either.

From that moment, Doug and I were inseparable. That week, he started bringing me roses. He’d meet me at my locker every morning with a single fresh bloom, hand-picked from his grandmother’s garden.

“To make up for missing Valentine’s Day,” he explained with a grin as he handed me the first one.

It didn’t take long for people at school to notice. My friends, half envious and half impressed, kept asking, “How did you get him to do that?” Meanwhile, the boys weren’t so thrilled.

“Man, you’re setting the boyfriend bar way too high,” one of them grumbled, shaking his head. “Now my girlfriend expects flowers!”

Doug thought their complaints were hilarious. He laughed and said, “Well, that’s not my problem.” He clearly enjoyed the attention, but more than anything, he was proud of the way his gesture made me feel.

Even Doug’s grandmother got in on the teasing. One morning, as he reached for another bloom, she shook her head and said, “Doug, did I say you could take all the roses?”

Doug grinned, holding up the flower. “But Mama Carr, I left some at the bottom for you!”

She laughed and said, “Well, that’s okay—they’re for Rene.”

The roses quickly became one of my favorite parts of the day, not just because they were beautiful but because of what they represented. Each one was a quiet reminder of how much Doug cared, and every time he handed me a fresh bloom, I felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

One night that summer, Doug and I sat outside on the picnic table in my backyard, gazing up at the stars. The warm night breeze carried the faint scent of honeysuckle, and everything felt still and quiet, as though the universe had paused just for us.

I leaned back, looking up at the sky, and sighed. “I’ve always loved the moon,” I said softly. “It feels constant, like no matter what changes, it’s always there. It’s comforting.”

Doug turned to me, his expression thoughtful, and then he smiled. “One of these days,” he said, his voice low and steady, “I’m going to lasso the moon for you.”

I laughed, brushing it off as a romantic notion, but his words stuck with me. Doug had a way of making even the impossible sound like a promise. At that moment, under the light of the moon and surrounded by the quiet of the night, I felt more seen and loved than ever before.

As the summer wore on, our relationship deepened. Doug’s playful side never wavered, but there was a quiet strength to him, too—a steadiness I hadn’t realized I needed. He became not just my boyfriend, but my best friend, someone I could count on no matter what.

One afternoon, we were wrestling playfully in the living room of my house. Doug pinned me gently to the floor, grinning triumphantly. “I told you once,” he said, his voice softening, “that one of these days, I’m not going home without you. I hope this is the start of that.” He paused, his expression turning serious. “Will you marry me?”

I didn’t care that he didn’t have a ring or that we were so young. My answer was a resounding yes. In that moment, nothing else mattered. We were in love, and our future felt like an adventure waiting to unfold.

Not long after, Doug received his orders to report for Navy boot camp. The day he left, I went with him to the airport, back when you could still walk someone to the gate. The goodbye felt impossible, the weight of it settling in my chest as I tried to be brave. He hugged me tightly, his voice steady but soft as he said, “I’ll write you every chance I get. And one day, I promise, I won’t ever have to leave you again.”

Tears threatened to spill, but I held them back, managing a smile. “I’ll be here,” I whispered, willing him to feel how much I meant it. I watched as he walked away, turning back one last time with a wave before disappearing down the jet bridge. The emptiness hit me all at once, but so did the certainty—I would wait for him, no matter how long it took.

While Doug was at Navy boot camp, letters were our lifeline. Each one was filled with dreams, encouragement, and love. Long-distance calls were rare but electric, and I’ve kept every letter, their worn edges holding a love that feels as fresh as ever.

Doug kept his promise to write as often as he could, and every word reminded me that the distance was temporary. He’d always sign off with something sweet or funny, often promising again, “One day, I won’t have to leave you.”

When he finally returned home after boot camp, it was as though no time had passed. Seeing him in his Navy uniform, smiling that same carefree smile, made my heart swell. We both knew our connection had only grown stronger during his time away.

On January 20, 1986, Doug and I eloped on a teacher in-service day. During one of his breaks after boot camp, Doug had called me. “Would it make you feel more secure about us if we got married?” he asked gently.

The thought of being apart again was hard on both of us, and the idea of solidifying our relationship gave us something to hold onto, even with all the uncertainty ahead. “Yes,” I said, without hesitation. “Let’s do it.”

When Doug arrived, my best friend Christy and her boyfriend stood as witnesses, grinning through the entire ceremony. It wasn’t extravagant or traditional, but it didn’t need to be. It was us, bound by love and the promises we had kept through every twist and turn.

Over the years, Doug has never stopped making me laugh or surprising me with little gestures that show how much he cares. He’s still the same man who brought me roses every morning and made me feel like the most special girl in the world.

Sometimes, we’ll dance in the living room to our favorite songs, twirling under the soft glow of the lights, even if it’s just to embarrass our sons and grandsons. And every now and then, Doug will look up at the night sky and remind me of his promise. “Still working on lassoing the moon for you,” he’ll say, with that same sweet smile that captured my heart all those years ago.

Our song, "My Only Love" by the Statler Brothers, remains a constant in our lives. Doug still sings it to me—sometimes softly in the car, sometimes while we’re slow dancing in the kitchen. And he often looks at me and says, “I got you, babe,” just like he did in those early days.

Now, 38 years later, we’ve shared a lifetime of love—two sons, three grandsons, and countless memories. Those small moments—the tap on the shoulder (or being goosed, depending on whose version you believe) at Bennett’s, the sneaky kiss, the roses—feel like the foundation of everything we’ve built. Doug promised me long ago that one day he wouldn’t go home without me, and he’s kept that promise every single day.

Through the twists and turns of life, we’ve built something extraordinary—a love story I wouldn’t trade for anything.

What began as an unexpected encounter became the love of a lifetime. Against the odds and the doubts, we built something lasting and beautiful. With the Fates’ quiet guidance, our bond only grew stronger, proving that love, when it’s real, can weather anything.

#ReedsyEncounters