In December of 1983, Mrs. Leatherwood organized a Christmastime “fantasy gift exchange.” It worked like most other gift exchanges do — everybody in class randomly picked the name of a fellow student and we were to give them a gift. The difference was, as this was a “fantasy” gift exchange, instead of buying the gifts we got to draw them on paper instead. The only limit to our gifts was our imagination.
I can’t remember exactly who drew my name, but I specifically remember whose name I pulled: “Cammie Bruce”. In 1983 I was 1 of 3 fifth graders in the Shedeck Gifted Program; the other ten or so kids were older sixth graders. Now I didn’t know much about Cammie Bruce or what sixth graders liked and I knew even less about what sixth grade girls liked, but I knew they liked make up and doing their hair and stuff like that, so based on that I went to work on my drawing.
The following day, we exchanged our virtual gifts. Whoever drew my name hit the nail on the head. Inside my fantasy gift was two tickets for a ride on the Space Shuttle. I remember a big elaborate drawing of the solar system with the Space Shuttle zooming by and two tickets drawn down in the corner.
We worked our way around the room and soon it was time for Cammie to open her fantasy gift. Inside her card, I had drawn an entire beauty salon. Inside I’d drawn the hairdrying chairs, the sinks, and all the beauty products and accessories I could think of. It took a long time to draw all those little combs, hair dryers and ribbons, and I was pretty pleased with my artistic skills. I think I even drew a couple of dresses on there as well. What can I say; I’m a giver.
So just like a real gift exchange, we had to hold our pictures up and tell the class what we had got. Man I was proud of myself — I knew all the other girls in class would be so jealous!
So we’re going around the room and we get to Cammie and she half-heartedly holds up her picture and then just starts bawling. I mean, sobbing. She dropped her head and buried it in her arms. All the other girls ran to her side to console her and started rubbing her back. All I remember was Cammie lifting her head long enough to choke out the words, “He thinks I’m UGLY!”
The room was instantly divided that day. On one side sat a bunch of pissed off girls; on the other, a huddle of confused and scared little boys. I still remember the feeling of the smile melting from my face and wondering, what the hell just happened?
At some point in every man’s life he eventually learns that women are different and that he will never fully understand them — the best you can do is try and fake it. I learned that lesson that day. I still don’t understand women and I’m still doing my best to fake it.
Cammie, if you’re out there, let me know and I’ll draw you something else.